One World is Not Enough
by Gazooki
Summary: Jason Green is nothing special. He works at the Pokémon Centre in Accumula Town, having never passed Trainer's School due to the emergence of Team Plasma five years ago. But after a mysterious package is left for him, he sets off to Castelia City and becomes embroiled in a plot that endangers not just his world, but the entirety of the Multiverse...
1. Prologue: The Wheels Begin to Turn

**Prologue: The Wheels Begin To Turn**

PC Robert 'Bobby' Moore had been a respected member of Unova's police force for years now, and guarding the Nacrene City museum was one of many duties he had performed for the local community. He'd been brought in shortly after the first incident there, when Team Plasma had stolen the skull from the giant Dragonite-esque skeleton displayed in the middle of the museum, and had served his city admirably. Since that fateful day, when the house of Harmonia had announced their intentions to the world, he'd sacrificed his nights to keep watch over the timeless artefacts on display, the fossilised Pokémon, the rock that appeared to be from a comet, tools from ancient tribes and some of the first apricorn-based Pokeballs ever made among them.

As he patrolled the perimeter for what seemed like the 100th time, Bobby thought how absurd it was that the museum didn't even have a door, so there was nothing stopping someone simply walking in and taking things. But then, if they'd installed a door with a fairly complex lock, he'd be getting less pay, although he would at least get a decent amount of sleep. At this point he noticed the beam of his torch had vanished.

"Bugger, torch must've died again," he grumbled, reaching into his shirt pocket to find the spare batteries. As he did so, Bobby heard something behind him, a metallic sort of sound, and from the corner of his eye saw a glint of light, something reflecting the moonlight coming in from outside. Instinctively he reached for his gun and turned around to confront his adversary, but he saw nobody.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" he yelled. Still nothing. "Come out with your hands up!" he bellowed. Again there was no response from the possible criminal. "This is your last warning! Come out with your hands in the air and drop your weapon!" he ordered. As before, the mysterious would-be criminal did not comply. Bobby fired off a warning shot, hoping that might flush them out from their hiding place, but only succeeded in lodging a bullet in one of the steps leading up to the library, which had been a Gym before Team Plasma had first attacked, after which the Basic Badge was relinquished to Cheren Lenoir, who had assisted the hero, Hilbert Blair, in his quest to prevent the conquest of Unova. Still keeping a watchful eye for any sudden movement, he cautiously made his way forward, but had only made a couple of steps before feeling the cold, hard steel of a knife blade against his throat. The last thing he saw as the blade pierced his jugular was a large plume of smoke erupting from the other corner of the museum, and three shadowy figures moving towards the plinth upon which the Dark Stone had been placed...

* * *

Dr. Taggart had never been a morning person, but when duty called he could hardly ignore it. As the shrill tone of his work X-Transceiver rang out, he groggily reached out for it with his right arm, knocking several items off his bedside cabinet in the process, including his unwound alarm clock.

"This better be worth my bloody time," he grumbled as he brought the X-Transceiver closer to his face. As he saw who the call was from, he let out a loud belligerent groan before answering.

"What've yae woken me for?" he enquired, blinking to break the crusted layers of rheum around his eyes.

"You've got thirty minutes, Taggart," his superior, the stern and stony-faced superintendent Roger Aspinall, warned. "You better start bucking your ideas up, lad, or your arse is out the door! Honestly, if this is the best Glasgow can offer I dread to envisage what that city must be like."

"No need tae imagine it, the place is a bloody warzone! Me and Euan were the lucky ones getting transferred here," Taggart said.

"Yes well, Euan's been here for five hours already, while you've become practically nocturnal! I'll not repeat myself, Taggart, just make sure you're here in thirty. We need to start immediately."

"But wait, wha-" Before the weary forensic scientist could even finish his sentence, Aspinall had clasped his clamshell X-Transceiver shut, leaving the Scot alone and in the dark as to exactly why he had been awakened. Sighing, Taggart slowly slid out from under the duvet, his shoulders drooping, and walked towards the bathroom, reasoning that there was no way he'd be getting back to sleep, so he might as well start his morning now. Breakfast was optional at this point, at the very least he could easily pick something up from the Raffertys just up the road, but he would first have to take some time to look somewhat presentable in front of the superintendent. After all, if he'd gone through the trouble to call him personally, that meant he was missing something huge.

* * *

"Mornin' Taggart!" Euan McTavish greeted his colleague enthusiastically, wildly gesticulating in a manner that wouldn't look out of place directed by David Lewandowski.

"Bugger off," Taggart grumbled, hardly acknowledging his fellow Glaswegian. This is how most mornings started, so it came as no real surprise to anybody at this point, least of all Euan, yet still he persisted in wobbling around like an Airdancer in an attempt to cheer up the incredibly dour Scotsman. As usual, Taggart strode onwards towards Nacrene Police Station, just a couple of streets down from the Museum, which had been cordoned off in the early hours of the morning. Then again, to Taggart, that could have been any time in the morning.

"Late again are we, Jim?" the young copper on duty at the entrance chastised him. Taggart could never remember the lad's name, but there were rumours abound that he was sleeping with Bobby Moore's wife behind his back. Obviously nobody spoke of these rumours when the man in question was present, as thus far it had been a long, happy and successful marriage barring the infidelities on those long nights when he patrolled the premises of Nacrene Museum, but nonetheless it was widely known of.

"Yes, I know, laddie, it's well past time you were in school," Taggart quipped. "Does your mammie know you're cuttin' classes?" The lad's face remained straight, like a brick wall with a hint of bum-fluff.

"At least I'm here on time every morning," the young lad retorted. "Anyway, you'd best go through to the boardroom, there's a meeting scheduled to begin in twenty minutes. Aspinall says I'm to make sure everyone else is here before we begin."

"So you're not just waiting on me then?" Taggart enquired. As far as he knew, everyone else in the force was usually punctual, although occasionally Sharky might turn up late, dripping wet, his pearly whites glistening, a terrifying bloodlust in his eyes, although that might just be a lingering anger at the kids on Route 3 for pushing him into the pond on his way to work yet again.

"We've seen nothing of Sid Sellworth," the lad informed him. Sid was a conniving weasel of a man, who some said had literally sold his mother to Satan, which raised questions from many as to how he ever made it into the police force. Taggart paid it no mind, as far as he cared the creep could peddle as much stolen junk as he wanted so long as he wasn't conspiring to steal a few kilts or anything of that ilk.

"Like that bloody matters," Taggart said. "He's probably off helping some little ex-Plasma buggers steal Pokémon off old grannies. Anyway, best be headin' in, everyone else is probably in there already."

"I'll join you shortly," the lad called as he passed through the door into the shabby little station. The only rooms in the station were the boardroom, where many executive meetings took place, the kitchen and a unisex bathroom which was literally just a toilet and a sink, all joined by a small corridor. Straight ahead was Taggart's destination, he crept towards it and slowly opened the door, hoping relieved that he was, for once, there before the meeting had started.

"Ah, there you are. How nice of you to join us at last," the superintendent said. "We're about ready to begin, just waiting on a couple more." Taggart looked around, noticing several empty seats around the table. Sellworth and Euan McTavish were still absent, as was the lad still on duty out by the door. Curiously, PC Moore's seat right by the end was also conspicuously empty, which came as a surprise to Taggart, as Moore was the most dedicated policeman he'd ever known in his time with various forces, always prepared to work overtime at the Museum despite the fact nothing had been stolen in nearly five years.

With not much else to do, Taggart took his seat and took a quick glance at the rest of the force. Sharky was, as usual, dripping wet. Despite the advice of others he still took the same route every day and more often than not ended up soaked to the skin thanks to a group of unruly youths. Most of the others he barely saw or spoke to, although Taggart identified them through their odd quirks, and he was blessed with the good fortune to be seated next to the only woman on the force, the lovely Naomi Wadsworth, one of the most intelligent individuals he had ever known. She was currently working towards her PhD in criminal psychology and it was her duty to craft an accurate image of every convict and vagabond in the city. Had he been a decade younger Taggart may have pushed his luck and potentially put his career on the line to spend a night with her, in fact he would have given anything for the chance to whisper sweet nothings in her ear and run his fingers through those plentiful auburn locks, but the years had not been kind, cursing him with premature flecks of grey and stress-induced wrinkles, so his fantasies would forever remain just that.

Soon the others had arrived, sans PC Moore, which was most unusual considering his devotion to the force. Taggart suspected something was amiss, and his suspicions were about to be confirmed by the Superintendent.

"Some of you may be wondering why I gathered you all here this morning," Aspinall began, "and why PC Moore hasn't joined us. Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that PC Moore was found dead in the Nacrene Museum this morning." Cries of horror and sadness rang out all around the room, save for the lad seated besides Euan, who no longer would have to hide his affections for the deceased's widow. He had been much loved by the force and community for his diligence and his absolute devotion to keeping the museum safe. He had never missed a single night shift at the museum since that day almost five years ago, when the nefarious Team Plasma had stormed into the museum and made off with an ancient dragon's skull.

"And what, may I ask, was the manner of his untimely death?" Taggart found himself asking, preparing for the worst.

"I'll say this much: Hawes had to wade through a pool of blood to get to work this morning." There were more utterances of exasperation and anguish as the terrible truth began to emerge.

"So, you could say... there's been a murder!" Taggart said, as he did every time he came across a mutilated corpse, which seemed to be surprisingly common. For a Glaswegian it was just another day's work.

"That's an incredibly insensitive way of putting it, but yes, PC Moore was in fact murdered," Aspinall answered sourly. "Wadsworth, I want you and McTavish to examine the body. Cause of death seems to be blood loss from a horrific neck wound but I'd like you two to have a closer look just in case there's anything else we can gather. Take a few samples, see if we can get a match for the weapon. As for the rest of you, Phidd and Chiddink, you two stand guard and apprehend anyone attempting to enter the crime scene. Abbott, I understand you know the deceased's wife well. I think it's best if you break the bad news. Adamson, there's some CCTV for you to have a look at..."

"It won't encroach on my beliefs as a Christian will it?" Adamson asked. That one always had to be difficult, bringing his faith into every debate as though it were important. Now he was allowing it to get in the way of an investigation involving his own colleagues.

"Unless Christians are banned from viewing images of sins, no," Aspinall replied. Adamson abruptly rose and left despite not being officially dismissed, presumably to visit the museum and view the CCTV footage in Hawes' dusty old office. Taggart had been sent there a few times during his stay n Unova, and it amazed him that Hawes still kept one of those big chunky televisions with the built-in VHS. The husband of former Gym leader-turned fossil hunter Lenora Stone always had been a bit of an eccentric, fascinated with the old, hence his position as assistant director of the Museum.

"I suppose the rest of you are dismissed to do as you please. Look for any witnesses, scour the area for clues, take photographs, anything that may assist us in catching those responsible. Oh, and Taggart," the superintendent finished, "from now on I want you here at eight o'clock sharp or you'll be on the next ship back to Britain!"

"Aye, sir," Taggart affirmed. Muttering curses under his breath, the Scot shambled out of the boardroom along with the rest of the team, not at all ready for the day's work ahead of him.

**Author's Notes: This chapter is obviously just leading into the main story, once I finish editing the first proper chapter that will go up too. This particular chapter relates to a reoccuring plotline our main cast will encounter so it's not completely pointless. Any feedback is appreciated. You lucky people can expect a new chapter once a week throughout the summer, with the exception of a two-week hiatus in August when I'll be somewhere with no wifi. After that, I'm starting my third year of uni so it'll be a lot more difficult for me to find time to write and updates will likely slow to a crawl. I might also prepare something special for the release of X and Y, we'll see. **


	2. Chapter 1: All Things Start Somewhere

**Chapter 1: All Things Start Somewhere**

"Anyone want anything while I'm in the kitchen?" Jason asked, as he got himself another can of Diet Coke out of the fridge. Times had not always been peaceful for the inhabitants of Accumula Town, as Jason Green could attest to.

Jason was now working for the Pokémon centre in Accumula in the time since those strange men dressed as knights had turned up one day and tried to convince the townsfolk to set free their Pokémon, mainly because he had found himself to be a rather poor trainer when it came to battling but also due to his sense of diligence and determinism to help those affected by Team Plasma in any way he could. Meek as a week-old Mareep though he may have been, Jason had proven himself up to the task and made regular appearances on the Employee of the Month board.

A rather short young man aged 19, reaching about five foot five in height, Jason often found it difficult to find clothes that would actually fit him, but since the majority of his time was devoted to his job at Accumula's Pokémon Centre, he did not usually have to worry about this due to uniform being compulsory for all employees.

"I appreciate your concern, but no thank you," came Rebecca's reply from the living room. Of course, Jason was not alone in working at the Pokémon Centre, beside the obvious Nurse Joy (who was apparently the second cousin, twice removed, of the Nurse Joy that patrolled the Orange Islands on a canoe) there were two other employees that Jason had befriended during his time there. The first, Rebecca Smith, worked behind the counter selling goods to customers, and had been good friends with Jason since they first met when they coincidentally started on the same day. She was of a similar build and height to Jason (below average, that is) but a couple of years older than Jason, although it didn't show, and her dark hair reached not much further than her shoulders.

From a rather reputable family whose business making customised Pokéballs that rivalled Kurt's had been successful for generations, she had rather formal mannerisms compared to the rest of the townsfolk, but she had been the one to make the choice to be schooled locally with the other children as opposed to the mansion in Striaton City, she just never got round to dropping the acquired accent associated with those from the more reputable families of the region.

The upper classes were now more willing to mingle with those below them, as reflected by the triplets, Cilan, Chili and Cress, running Striaton's gym, and Rebecca was also an example of the changing attitudes, regularly conversing with the townsfolk while convincing them to take advantage of the discounted prices of Potions that day. As far as Pokémon were concerned, of course she encountered them every day, but only bothered with capturing a few for protection, since she had no plans to roam Unova on a quest to capture every species unlike many of her generation, although since Team Plasma's attempted liberation there had been a notable drop in the number of children venturing out on their own.

"Yeah, I'll have another beer," Owen said, flicking through the channels on Jason's TV. The other employee of the Pokémon Centre that Jason considered a friend couldn't have contrasted with him more. Owen Turner was the eldest of the group at 24, approached 6 feet in height and his toned body suggested he would be more capable in a street brawl than a Pokémon battle. Rather fittingly, the heavy lifting was mainly left to him, but he didn't really mind since he was paid well and it meant he could upgrade his workout equipment whenever he needed. Despite looking like he'd just escaped from prison, he was rather pleasant for the most part, until someone disagreed with him or put him down for being the one guy who gets lumped with all the work nobody else wanted, at which point they'd know roughly what a Mega Punch to the face from a Hitmonchan would feel like.

Over the course of the last three Plasma-free years, Jason, Rebecca and Owen had practically made it a ritual to hang out every Friday, in honour of their survival of such rough times, and also because they actually got on with each other despite drastic differences in personalities. Originally the plan was to visit the pub, the Croagunk and Bucket, every week, but the first time they'd entered it they received icy-cold glares from the regulars and vowed never to return, although this never stopped the students of the acclaimed Accumula University.

Jason opened up another six-pack of beers, which he didn't really drink himself but stocked up on for Owen, although sometimes his parents would help themselves to a few. Luckily for Jason, his parents knew when to keep out of the way and retreat to their own room, so he at least could avoid certain awkward situations when he brought friends round. Taking a pair of scissors, he cut that annoying plastic that brewers continue to use to hold their six-packs together and took the nearest loose can from the pack for Owen. Closing the fridge, he skimmed over a few of the post-its that he'd left on the fridge, reminding him of such menial tasks as putting the bins out or remembering that 'a Ducklett is for life, not just for Christmas', before opening the cupboard adjacent and snatching up the remainder of an open packet of Rich Teas, knowing Rebecca would have exhausted her previous supply by now but would never ask for more for fear of appearing greedy, and returning to the living room without his own refreshment.

"Here you go," he said, passing the beer to Owen, who by this time had given up on trying to find anything interesting to watch and had left the television on an obscure religious channel where a black pastor was shouting aggressively in French while wiping copious amounts of sweat from his brow. Jason sat down on the sofa next to Owen, trying to figure out what the crazy priest was on about. He didn't get much chance before Owen muted the TV.

"Man, can you believe it's almost been a whole three years since we first met?" Owen asked, stretching his arms out behind him.

"It seems a lot longer ago," Rebecca said, "but I suppose that's probably due to how important it was in shaping our lives."

"Hell, it's been five whole years since Plasma first arrived," Owen continued, "it's making me feel old."

"I doubt any of us will ever forget those dark times." _Of course not_, Jason thought as he handed the Rich Teas to Rebecca, who thanked him courteously, as she had been taught. _History was made in this very town. There probably won't be another event like that in our lifetimes._

"Yeah..." Jason often avoided the subject as best he could, but when prompted was able to recite reams of information about the adventures of Hilbert Black, supposed saviour of Unova. "Hold on, I left my drink in there." Jason raced back into the kitchen, spotted the forlorn-looking can he'd left out on the side, picked it up and hurried to the living room once more.

"Y'know, one good thing that came of it is the changes made to the PC system," Jason finally replied, returning to his chair at last. Since Team Plasma's scientists had hacked into the database in an attempt to free every Pokémon in storage, the entire PC storage programme had been re-coded from scratch during a collaborative effort by all the independent developers of Pokémon storage software, masterminded by Bill of the Lone Moniker, who had invented the system and therefore had the best knowledge of every possible exploit in the system and how those could be fixed, and adapted for use in Unova by Amanita Jackson, who coded it to allow access for the Pokémon existing in the region, as Bill's system had no record of them. Bill's changes could have been implemented long ago, but it took an event of this magnitude to prompt action from the successful programmer, who would much rather have spent his time trying to capture every evolution of Eevee than debugging his own systems.

"Quite frankly, the entire system was due for a rehaul," Rebecca said. Despite her family's reluctance to move into the digital age, she had knowledge of computer systems beyond your average hacker, she could take down networks with more complex methods than DDoS or redirects. During the first uprising of Team Plasma she had beaten them to the punch and hacked into the PC system herself, using the source code she found to build a completely new server from scratch, in which many tech-savvy (and paranoid) Trainers had created accounts and deposited their Pokémon in preparation for the destructive virus that Plasma's scientists had made to flush out the system and release everything stored upon it.

"Maybe," said Jason, "but the point is, Team Plasma really did change the world despite their failure. Security everywhere's tighter now and the police actually take action occasionally."

"Yeah, suppose they got that right," Owen conceded, "but they were scum." Something about fundamentalist views had always rubbed Owen up the wrong way. "No matter what anyone says, no good was ever gonna come of their plans. Liberation is one thing, but what they were doing was extortion. Hell, Ghetsis himself up and admitted it didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did," Jason confirmed, "he was the one behind everything. Even N had no idea. Poor guy must've been gutted to hear he was being manipulated the whole time when he thought he'd be the one to bring peace to the world." _And once upon a time, so had I..._

"Indeed, I expect he had good intentions at heart, but his superiors certainly didn't," Rebecca said, defending the so-called King of Team Plasma who in the end had been nothing but a pawn in Ghetsis's game.

"There's one thing I don't get though. How did they think they were gonna get away with it all?" Owen asked, more in intrigue to how the others would respond if anything, Jason guessed.

"Power of the dragon?" he offered. The rumours suggested that Ghetsis had been using the powers of the great Dragons of legend, Reshiram, Zekrom and Kyurem, to bring about the end of freedom in Unova, ruling over the land with an iron fist. Their first attempt was thwarted by the now-legendary Hilbert Blair, a young man from Nuvema Town who somehow became a hero and used the power of the Dark Stone and Zekrom to stop Ghetsis' plans. The second incident was halted by another young man, Nathaniel 'Nate' Duckworth, from the western community of Aspertia City, who had evaded Plasma's initial attacks and in a climactic (and climatic due to the radical changes in weather conditions) battle deep within the Giant Chasm had prevented the unnatural White Kyurem, the result of Ghetsis manipulating the DNA of Kyurem and using its power to fuse itself with Reshiram, from paralysing the entirety of Unova, which would easily have allowed Ghetsis to assume a complete rule over the land.

"Like that's gonna stop the world's army from storming your stronghold," Owen laughed, not believing the whole dragon story one bit despite all supporting evidence. "Besides, what did Ghetsis think he was gonna do once he had Unova, move onto Sinnoh or Hoenn? I don't believe that for a second."

"Who are we to speculate on Team Plasma's capabilities?" Rebecca retorted, "They brought Unova to its knees, twice no less. How can you tell whether they could go further?"

"You got me there," Owen admitted. "Anyway, how 'bout we put all that behind us and enjoy ourselves? That's what Friday nights are for, after all!"

"I'll drink to that... except it won't have much impact," Jason said, blissfully unaware that the by the time the next morning rolled by he would become part of a plot that could decide the fate of two worlds...

* * *

Jason awoke the next morning with a hazy memory, which surprised him seeing as he didn't drink. He'd been dreaming of being Hilbert Blair again, travelling across Unova and battling against the evil Team Plasma with Zekrom by his side (never mind that he didn't awaken Zekrom until the very last second). _Maybe it's just got to the point where every day becomes a blur_, he thought as he headed to the en-suite bathroom. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before, and of course there was the inevitable bed-head, but apart from that nothing about his appearance that morning was particularly different to any other day.

Once done with his usual morning routine, Jason returned to his bedroom... and found Rebecca occupying the space where he'd been sleeping just a few minutes before. _Now this is a shock._ Usually she would've returned home, but something must've happened the previous night that changed all that, and it was up to the two of them to work out exactly what. Jason slowly moved towards the bed and gently prodded her awake.

"Morning..." she mumbled, rousing from her sleep with alarming rapidity.

"Um... morning, I suppose..." Jason said quietly. Rebecca sat up and stretched her arms out, nearly catching Jason in the face. "So, about last night..." he started to say, but cut himself off because he immediately knew whatever came next was going to be awkward. _There's no way that happened. Never. _

"Oh, that. It's nothing, really," Rebecca said.

"Well, could you at least fill me in then? I mean, why are you here?" _That didn't happen. Besides, I made the pact with Owen._

"I lost my keys," Rebecca answered sheepishly, "and since it was late I thought it best not to wake my parents by knocking, so you brought me back here."

"And... did anything else happen?" Jason enquired.

"We talked for a little while, and then you fell asleep. That's really all there is to it."

"Oh," Jason said, unable to hide his disappointment, but at the same time relieved that his mind hadn't lost anything too significant. "Well, I suppose we'd better get you home then. I imagine your parents'll be worried sick."

"That's probably the best idea," Rebecca agreed, finally throwing off the duvet before entering the en-suite. Keeping his mind free of any impure thoughts, Jason re-made his bed, sat down upon it and took the magazine that was left on his bedside table, flicking through it while he waited. He was checking out an article written by a former League Champion who'd been removed from his position after a drug scandal emerged when his radio alarm clock set off. Jason hadn't even been aware it was set; then again he still didn't know what had been going on the previous night. The initial shock gave way to curiosity as he started listening to the broadcast.

"...Investigation is underway at the scene. Police have confirmed that the Dark Stone is the only item missing from the museum. Now, onto the sports news..." Jason pressed the snooze button, annoyed that something potentially interesting had lasted only a few seconds. The fact that the reporter had mentioned the Dark Stone had intrigued him, after all, only last night they'd been discussing Ghetsis's downfall.

Once Rebecca had finally finished preparing, she and Jason set off to Striaton, where the Smith family's mansion was located. Jason only just remembered to take his X-transceiver with him, as most of the time he wouldn't stray too far from Accumula Town and hardly ever felt the need to call anyone.

"So, did you hear about what happened at the museum in Nacrene?" he asked Rebecca as they walked along Route 2, while children played and battled with their Pokémon, a sight that almost became non-existent during those dreadful times five years ago.

"I have not," Rebecca replied, "what happened?"

"Sounds like someone broke in last night and stole the Dark Stone," Jason informed her.

"Interesting," Rebecca said, "it was just last night when we were discussing the plausibility of that actually being real."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Jason offered, recalling that moment when Owen had laughed off the notion that Ghetsis, N and Mr. Blair had managed to awaken two powerful legendary Dragon-type Pokémon during their climactic battle. It did seem far-fetched, but Jason liked to believe there was truth to those old legends.

"Personally, I don't see the point," Rebecca remarked, "even if the events unfolded as is generally believed, the real Dark Stone became Zekrom, and the one in the museum is obviously a replica." Jason simply nodded in agreement, preferring to simply accept the most logical conclusion rather than elaborate on the Unovan equivalent of an Arthurian legend, many doubted their veracity but they had become so ingrained in their culture that outsiders defined them by it, and they were a useful way of teaching children the importance of solving conflicts in the proper manner. The rest of the short walk was spent mostly silent, as Jason was terrible at starting up a conversation, especially after the one subject he had at hand was exhausted, so he simply decided not to bother, and if Rebecca had nothing else to say, then so be it.

Soon they emerged on the other side of Route 2, at Striaton City, which wasn't really large enough to be considered a city in the conventional sense, but it had a Gym, which was more than enough to secure the status in the lands Pokémon originated from. The two short-statured friends, side by side, traversed the unexpectedly busy streets. Even for a Saturday the city-in-name-only was active, it seemed that something had awoken the town en masse from a collective slumber, and that could only be a good thing for Striaton, even though it already had the highest wealth per capita of all of Unova due to being mainly inhabited by the rich and well-known (in business circles and by sports team chairmen at least).

Wandering through the leafy suburbs bordering the Dreamyard, a sanctuary for the rare and elusive Munna set up by the alluring Fennel Creek, former assistant of Professor Juniper, Jason and Rebecca finally reached the House of Smith, a title that was sorely lacking in a double-barrelled name, but the signs weren't big enough to accommodate one so the family had had to consolidate all their big names into one very small (and common) one to make it easier to manage. The house was roughly what would be expected from a comfortably well-off family, with the width and height of two ordinary terraced houses and a lot of unnecessary rooms that were mainly filled with antique furniture handed down the generations by the elders of the family. One day, this would all be Rebecca's, but there was a long time before that became a reality, as the family had up until the current generation been very uptight and traditional about arranging marriages as soon as the first signs of adolescence began to emerge. Jason once heard from her that she'd been betrothed to one of her own cousins before the deal was struck off when it emerged she was mingling with the common folk.

None of this really mattered, however, as she strode up the steps on the porch up to the front door and knocked, while Jason hid in the bushes from the terrible monstrous being known as Rebecca's mother. He knew full well what was coming next and he wanted to be well out of the way when it happened. The door swung open and the behemoth emerged. The devil didn't wear Prada, apparently, but she did wear a dress that wouldn't look out of place on some Victorian period drama and her hair in a bun, also seemingly a staple in those old dramas that Jason's parents had become addicted to recently.

"Where on Earth do you think you've been, young lady?" the demon screeched, and she would have been more intimidating had she been any taller than her daughter was.

"I, er..." Rebecca tried to answer, but of course she didn't have time to utter the rest of the sentence before being cut off.

"How many times have I told you to be back before 10? You had me worried sick!" Mrs. Smith yelled. _Called it,_ Jason thought, ticking the phrase off his imaginary checklist, as this was unfortunately a rather common occurrence, although it was the first time he had absolutely no recollection of the events prior to waking up.

"But mother..."

"Enough! To your room!" the Iron Lady screamed, pointing inside the house to roughly where the stairs to the next floor were. She moved to the side to let her daughter pass before slamming the door behind her and drawing the net curtains in what Jason assumed was the living room, but since he never got close enough to the house to actually see inside he could only guess. Feeling his work here was done, he decided to turn back and head home. He was hungry now and needed some breakfast. _Toast would do nicely_, he thought, his stomach grumbling in agreement, as he turned his back on the Smith Manor and walked away from Downton Abbey. _That was the one, right? Not Lark Rise or Candleford or something? Can't say I paid much attention..._ Almost falling asleep on his feet, Jason turned his mind back to the nice warm plate of toast he'd be having once he got home as he left Rebecca at the mercy of her mother, a cruel fate but one that was, alas, unavoidable.

* * *

"...Right. I'll get right on it. Stay safe out there will ya?"

Victor sighed as he ended the call. He knew Lisa was perfectly capable of holding her own out there, but for some reason he always felt awful whenever she went out to do the dirty work. After all, it wasn't as if he was physically incapable of scouting out a potential enemy hideout himself. He had put on a few pounds recently but that was mainly due to an increasingly poor diet mainly consisting of nachos, the fuel of choice for those deciphering hellish matrix-esque walls of code for hours on end. The cheese had started to solidify and put a few important keys out of commission (at least until the next time he bothered cleaning it out), but there were ways of working around that.

Victor often wondered why he was the one assigned to hacking duty, since he knew there were others among their ranks that were ten times more competent than he was. At least Rick got surveillance, which was considerably more interesting and easier on the finger joints. _Oh well_, Victor thought to himself as he reached across the desk for more nachos, taking care not to let too much of the cheese drip onto his collection of magazines, the content of which was questionable to say the least_. Could be worse_. _None of us are dead. Yet._ The rate things were going, though, that couldn't be far off, and he had a fear that Lisa was the one in most danger.

After a few more mouthfuls of the one good thing to come out of Mexico, Victor turned his attention back to tackling the unceasing avalanche of coding present on his computer's monitor, his fingers dancing dextrously across the keys at a speed that many could never match. Frequent mistakes meant he would often have to go back and delete half his work, again bringing forth the question of why they hadn't given the position to someone else. After much cursing and correction, the desired results were soon produced, and the code eventually gave way to a display of various closed circuit screens. _Looks like it's true, they really are using that old castle as a fortress. Guess they gotta make sure nobody else can camp there._

"Heh, looks like we have 'em now," he thought aloud. Immediately the earpiece was switched back on, and a single sentence relayed to Lisa on the other end of the line.

"I'm in."

**Author's Note: This is where the real story starts, of course. Jim Taggart and the Nacrene Police will still have a role, but our main cast just got their introduction. There's quite a huge cast list as the story goes on so the characters introduced here may not be in the limelight so much, but as the summary indicates this is Jason's story. **


	3. Chapter 2: Small Packages

**Chapter 2: Small Packages**

It had taken nearly an hour for Jason to make the round trip to escort Rebecca home, and really he felt he needn't have gone with her in the first place since she could easily find her own way back. He wondered why he'd never seen her father; in fact, it occurred to him, Rebecca had never mentioned him specifically around him and Owen, only referring to her parents in the plural. Obviously there was something going on, but Jason felt it wasn't right to interfere, so he never touched upon the subject as family affairs are often a rather sensitive matter. Turning the key in the lock, with little success, he realised the door wasn't even locked in the first place, since his parents were still in. Shrugging, he removed the key and simply barged his way in, announcing his arrival by slamming the door against the wall and then spectacularly tripping over the carpet on the way in.

"Yep, he's back," he heard his mother say through the wall, not even bothering to leave the room to check if he was alright, although the probability of sustaining a life-threatening injury from faceplanting the carpet was practically nil. Jason got up slowly, brushing off bits of fluff that had decided to attach themselves to his clothes, before entering the kitchen to make breakfast. Oddly, there was a parcel addressed to him left on the counter next to the bread bin, with a note attached. Curious, Jason removed it from the underside of the parcel and began reading it.

"Meet me in Castelia City, in the abandoned offices by Cafe Sonata.

Yours,

An Old Friend.

PS. Under no circumstances open the parcel until you reach your destination."

_This has to be a joke,_ Jason thought. Nobody that he knew of would send him such a creepy-sounding message attached to what could potentially be a biohazard, but then again why would some stranger randomly send a parcel to his address, using his whole name, and sign it as 'an old friend?' Jason considered tearing the parcel open right there and then just to spite this 'old friend', but thought better of it. He really didn't have much else to do that day, since he had the weekends off, so after breakfast, he decided he might as well assume this wasn't some sort of hoax and make the journey down to Castelia. Rebecca obviously wouldn't be able to accompany him, so he decided to call Owen to see if he was willing to visit the big city. Selecting him from his list of contacts, Jason knew that soon his body-building friend would be hearing the opening guitar riff to Johnny River's "Secret Agent Man" and hopefully would pick up.

"Don't interrupt me while I'm bench-pressing, man!" Owen snapped as he answered. Jason should've known better than to interrupt his fitness routine, but he'd be forgiven afterwards since there was no strict schedule to it. As Owen himself had often said, that was the beauty of working out, you can exercise near enough whenever you have free time, but consistency is key.

"Sorry," Jason said weakly, "I was just wondering, would you be willing to come up to Castelia with me? I've got to meet someone there and it's kind of a big city..."

"Sorry man, can't help ya out there," Owen answered, "got a work good rhythm going before you rang. Besides, think I might've overdone it last night..."

"Well it'd be perfect then," Jason said attempting to coax him, "a bit of fresh air's probably just what you need right now."

"I'll open a window," Owen growled, "sorry man, you caught me at a real bad time. Any other day woulda been fine, but today I just ain't feeling up to it. Well, good luck with whatever it is you're doing! See ya Monday!"

"Bye then," Jason said as Owen hung up. Via a series of extraneous factors, it had been established that Jason would be travelling on his own to the largest city in Unova to meet someone who may or may not exist. Before he left, he made sure to check that he actually had some Pokémon round his belt in case he needed to defend himself, although in a life-or-death situation there was not much they could do to aid him. A team of Psyduck, Trubbish and Heatmor wasn't winning him any battles.

Diverting his attention from his own inaptitude, he started to put on his Scrafty-based hoodie, practically designed for trips to the docks, although it wasn't actually waterproof, it'd certainly keep the wind off Jason as he walked all the way up along the harbour to the other side of the city. Unhooking his brown, battered old duffel bag, which he'd had since his school days, he carefully opened it at the top, sliding the parcel inside in order to keep it from getting wet or being stolen. The drawstrings that were supposed to hold the bag shut at the top had long since come loose, so he had no choice but to keep hold of the bag's rope-like shoulder straps in order to keep it closed, which admittedly made any double-handed task more complicated, but for the foreseeable future he did not see this being a problem. With everything he could think of at that given moment prepared, Jason could finally leave the house and set off to meet this 'old friend' in Castelia.

As Jason approached Route 2, he checked the weather forecast in the route terminal to prepare for the journey ahead. His luck had brought him there just in time to see the forecast for Route 4 rolling past, which meant he'd be waiting a while for the whole roster of routes to loop back to the beginning so he could finally find out the conditions he could be expecting to face. _Why does Route 4 even need a weather report_? he thought impatiently. _It's a desert. There's only one kind of weather there._

While staring blankly at the board as the weather reports scrolled by, he noticed an unusual amount of precipitation. Near enough every other route had a warning for heavy rain and storms, and Jason was fully aware of the significance of that. But if it really was the djinns of legend, Tornadus and Thundurus, running amok, why were there so many warnings? And why did it have to be on this day, the one day he was actually out in the open, when the heavens decided to open and caused the Second Biblical Flood?

As one of the most multicultural and diverse places in the world, Unova incorporated multiple faiths into its education system to show impartiality, thus it was common for children to have knowledge of most of the major events from the Bible as well as the Original One's genesis stories. Before Western colonists had begun to inhabit the isles, the Old Gods, ruled by Arceus himself, were the ones many worshipped, but as time grew by the Christian religion had gained momentum, and during the last census, taken shortly before Ghetsis and his men first made themselves infamous, the Faith of Arceus had fallen to an all-time low with only 53% of the population identifying themselves as believers in the Old Gods.

It was too late to turn back now, though, Jason knew. He'd already put forth the effort to leave the house for the second time that day, and this time he wasn't thinking about toast. Striaton was far less eventful second time round, there were less people around now for whatever reason, and he blended into the crowd rather more now.

On the way up to Route 3, in the courtyard that was often mysteriously invaded by Stunfisk on a mild summer's night, Jason was confronted by a group of schoolchildren. Being in a hurry, he politely declined their offer of a battle, until one of them sent out their Sewaddle and commanded it to attack, knowingly breaking the basic Laws of Pokémon, which stated that 'A Pokémon may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm,' a rule established long before the Asimovian laws came into being.

"Fine, I'll take you on. Arthur, go!" he commanded, throwing its Poke Ball as hard as he could, sending the sluggish Fire-type into battle with its relatively weak opponent. It was around this point he realised Heatmor's strongest move by this point was Incinerate, and that was unreliable at best. Still, he did at least have the type advantage so Arthur ended things rather quickly with its best move. The inexperienced youngsters backed off, intimidated by a display of low-level Fire-type attacks, and let Jason past. Continuing down Route 3, Jason was tempted to watch the clueless children at the Day Care centre and their appalling tactics but after careful consideration decided it would be inappropriate to be caught watching pre-schoolers with his face covered up, and so it was time to travels onwards to Nacrene City.

Jason had the odd feeling that everyone was looking at him, which he put down to the hoodie, and the fact he tried to pass through the city while avoiding any contact with the townspeople came across as suspicious. Giving up on pretending to be an ordinary teen, he removed the hood so that people could at least see his face before he checked out the museum area. Upon arrival, he found the entrance cordoned off, which was hardly surprising considering what had taken place the night before, but he was taken aback by the presence of forensic scientists in the vicinity. _Sure, it was a rather valuable, and possibly fake, item that got stolen, but is this really necessary? _Wondering what was going on, he approached one of the scientists, who seemed to be absorbed in collecting dust particles from just behind the police tape, in order to get more details.

"Excuse me, I don't know if you're allowed to tell me this, but what exactly happened here?" he asked politely. The scientist looked up, annoyed that he'd been interrupted, and Jason saw that his name-badge identified him as "Dr. J. Taggart".

"There's been a murder!" he drawled with a noticeable Glaswegian accent. From his self-administered studies of Unovan history and mythology, Jason knew that after the War of Independence, many of the British fleeing the continent made Unova their home due to going the wrong way on the voyage home and missing England by several thousand miles and many of the people inhabiting the island nation in the present day descended from these lost pilgrims, although it was far more likely Dr. Taggart had simply migrated from the British Isles.

"Seriously? I only heard about the Dark Stone being stolen." Jason knew the situation to be grave, but had not expected it to have gone deeper than a missing relic.

"Aye, that too lad," Taggart answered, "they killed the security guard and made off wi' the Dark Stone. Looks like someone didn't tell them it's a fake. But still, since there's been a murder we have to investigate the crime regardless."

"Any progress?" Jason enquired, practically interrogating someone who would usually be required to take a vow of silence.

"Kind of," Taggart replied, "we've established the cause of death was a stab wound to the neck with some sort of bladed implement, and that there were at least three criminals involved. CCTV didn't get much though because they used smoke bombs to bypass the laser tripwires and replaced the stone on its plinth with a rock of roughly the same weight to fool the pressure sensors, since there's a delay between the object's removal and the alarms being triggered. No idea how they figured all that out though. Ah, bugger," he cursed, in a sudden moment of clarity, "I shouldnae be tellin' ye about this should I?"

"Probably not," Jason informed him, "but thanks anyway. Good luck with everything!" He then hurried off in the direction of Pinwheel Forest, knowing if he hung around much longer he'd be forcefully escorted away from the perimeter by the two burly policemen watching over the crime scene. Running towards the forest, Jason slowed down just in time to avoid colliding with a flamboyant-looking man wearing green, with a red scarf, reminding Jason of a boy scout's uniform.

"Hello there young chap!" the man said enthusiastically, "Allow me to introduce myself! I am Burgh Hill, the Gym Leader of Castelia City, and I was just on my way back here to find inspiration for my latest art project when who should I run into, but you, my fine fellow!" Burgh shook Jason's hand rather vigorously, with the poor sap not quite knowing what was going on here. It was nice to see a gym leader who was approachable and friendly, at least, but his mannerisms were a little too much for Jason, who tried to think of a way to break the handshake before his entire arm came loose.

"Umm... I take it you heard about the Museum..." he said, practically panicking inside but trying not to let it show, which he suspected wasn't working as planned.

"Why, of course, my boy!" Burgh laughed, which didn't really come across as the most appropriate reaction to a murder and theft, but Jason let it slide since on the evidence presented so far the man was clearly insane. "I shall make that my focus for my next project! Such a brilliant idea! Oh, the fragility of one's existence, and how quickly such can be taken away by the most callous of beings, mankind itself! Isn't it such a shame, old chum, that some foul wretches can be allowed to walk this very Earth, breathing the very same oxygen the rest of us law-abiding folk require?"

"Look, Burgh, I've got an important meeting, and I'm gonna be late!" Jason cried out abruptly, at last finding his opportunity to slip away into Pinwheel Forest and avoid another confrontation with this lunatic.

"I say," Burgh yelled after him, "Are you quite alright with going to Castelia by yourself? You look awfully pale!" Jason ran even faster, almost tripping over a loose branch, which he managed to dodge before becoming entangled in a mass of weeds alongside the edge of the forest. After extricating himself from the plants and insisting to the nurse stood by that he was fine and didn't need any emergency medical attention, he finally found himself in Pinwheel Forest, so named because of its unusual shape and the fact that it was inhabited by the wheel-shaped Whirlipede. Under the canopy of coniferous and deciduous trees, Jason knew that even if the abnormal weather struck here, the rainfall would be somewhat lessened by the trees above acting as natural umbrellas. Turning his head to scout the area out, he noticed that the usual quick route through the forest to the Skyarrow Bridge was blocked off by two rather large logs, with an old man standing between them. Cautiously, he approached the old man.

"You'll have to go the long way around," he said, "the guardian of the forest grows restless, and I fear he may attack those who disturb him."

"You mean Virizion right?" Jason had spent years studying Unovan legends, and knew of the story of the great war that had caused huge fires across Unova, and the three Pokémon that had saved the rest of their kind. Virizion had been the one that led the Pokémon away from mankind, into the deepest and darkest of forests where no human would ever be able to find them. Team Plasma, upon their return, had forced the three musketeers out of hiding but once the threat of evil had diminished they returned to their rightful places.

"You are correct," the old man smiled. "Goodness, you're the only young one I know who remembers the legends. Oh, what _do_ they teach them in schools these days?" Jason was tempted to answer "battling skills, basic principles of biology and artistic flair," but knew the old man's question was merely rhetorical. There was nothing for it but to turn back and go the long way round, through the winding paths that gave Pinwheel Forest its name.

* * *

"So, what can you see from where you are?" After Victor had re-established contact with Lisa, the priority lay in cooperation in order to find the best way to infiltrate the fortress developed on the foundations of a ruined castle. While their most experienced number-cruncher was currently unavailable, the second-in-command had no choice but to remain back at HQ and act as substitute code-breaker and all-around techno-wizard, while his superior, the venerable Lisa Armitage, by far the most experienced among their ranks, continued desert reconnaissance. They'd had their eye on this place for a while now, and at last they'd found a way to get a good look at the inside of the crumbling ruins.

"Front entrance is heavily guarded as expected," she relayed back to Victor, "which led to temporary withdrawal from the area. However I managed to avoid detection by approaching from 10 o'clock. Tower seems to be out of operation judging by lack of restoration. Currently moving to 11 o'clock, hopefully this angle will offer a better perspective on the main fort itself. How are things on your end?"

"Hold on," Victor said, "I gotta figure all these out first."

"Oh, Victor," Lisa sighed, "you always were the useless one. Makes me question why I kept you on."

"Ok, I think I got it," he hastily reassured her, "If I'm gettin' this right, then... yeah, we're screwed. All ground floor entrances are guarded from the inside, got no idea about outside but I imagine you'd pick up on that. Damn, there must be about fifty of 'em on this floor alone!"

"What about the other floors?" Lisa asked.

"Hold on, hold on. Gotta focus!" Victor said, his confidence waning more and more as each second passed. He may have been able to bust through a firewall to reach the CCTVs, but once he actually had the images in front of him it became a Herculean task working out what was where, and he was merely guessing by the way they were numbered roughly where each camera may have been located.

"We haven't got all day, Victor!" Lisa yelled frantically, "Just tell me what you can see!"

"Alright, keep your pants on!" Victor said, raising his hands up defensively despite her not being able to see him. "Right... Looks like the ground floor is just where everyone seems to hang out, nothin' special goin' on there. Problem is I can't tell where any of these rooms are since they ain't labelling things right. Like, there's these guys playing cards but I have no idea where that is..."

"Stop rambling, Victor!" Lisa screeched angrily, "Tell me something relevant already! Is it really that hard?"

"Um..." Victor hesitated.

"Well? Spit it out already damn you!"

"Right... looks like the underground bit's being used... as a prison. Or a zoo or somethin', not really sure." Victor enlarged the window marked "BF101" to get a closer look, and on further inspection saw that the cages he could see were filled with Pokémon, which was made all the more shocking when he considered just who they were dealing with. To make matters worse, he could clearly see in the upper right corner that an unfortunate Infernape was being blasted with a jet of highly-pressurised water from a powerful hose, presumably for some sort of misdemeanour. Next to one of the cages was a stack of boxes, and in the top one Victor could see a huge mound of Pokeballs of different varieties, which he assumed came from their latest haul. It was despicable, really, these people would steal from Trainers and then keep their Pokémon caged like wild animals, which granted they were to an extent, but these had spent years with people who had cared for them, even thought of as part of their families, and now they were being subjected to the sick sort of treatment seen only in the worst of dictatorships. Even with the grainy monochrome image in front of Victor it was clear that these Pokémon were malnourished and in a great deal of distress due to separation anxiety.

As he was relaying all this information to Lisa, he could hear yelling from the other side, and footsteps getting closer. There was a click, followed by a gunshot, presumably from the Glock she kept on her at all times. After a few seconds, Victor heard the footsteps moving in the opposite direction, even quicker than before.

"Well then," Lisa said, "guess it's time I headed back."

* * *

After many trials and tribulations involving smouldering bushes and enraged Rangers, Jason eventually found his way safely out of the forest, but now he had to overcome the trial that was traversing the Skyarrow Bridge, one of the longest bridges in Unova, and the only one that twisted and curved at certain points, which he was fairly sure was architecturally impossible but the evidence was rather contrary to this. After receiving a Quick Claw from some random hiker whose sole purpose in life was to stand at the gate giving items away to visitors, the long walk along the bridge began. Jason began to wish he could use the Quick Claw to get across the bridge faster, since it seemed to go on forever and it didn't help that there were hundreds of other people traversing it at the same time as him, mainly in the opposite direction. Sod's Law was in full effect, it seemed, as everyone seemed determined to hold him up for as long as possible and the winds blowing across the bridge were particularly cold today. He had no choice but to stick it out, though, as his curiosity regarding the package's contents was becoming insatiable. Creeping across slowly, gripping the handrails as though his life depended on it, Jason inched himself across the bridge bit by bit, resisting the harsh winds blowing in his direction and simultaneously avoiding collisions with those crossing towards Pinwheel Forest, who would be bitterly disappointed when they discovered the museum was closed indefinitely, if that was indeed their destination at all. It took a while longer than expected, but Jason did manage to cross Skyarrow Bridge and reach the warmth of the interior of the gate on the other side, where he rested for a short while.

This would've been the perfect time for a packed lunch, but being the scatter-brained young man he was, Jason had totally forgotten about food, especially since breakfast, which by now seemed so long ago despite it only being early afternoon. Fortunately he did manage to find some spare change in his pockets, and a few more loose notes hidden in the inner compartments of his duffel bag. Now that he knew he wasn't completely broke, and was rapidly becoming more ravenous with every second, Jason resolved to find himself some lunch before his meeting, and conveniently, the famed Cafe Sonata was right next to his destination. _That settles that then, _he thought, rising from the floor and making sure all his limbs still worked. Once he was satisfied that nothing was broken and his muscles all extended and contracted perfectly fine, he made his way out of the terminal gate, right back into the harsh and howling winds of Castelia City's dockyards.


	4. Chapter 3: Incompetence

**Chapter 3: Incompetence**

Jason finally admitted to himself he was lost. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes looking for the Cafe Sonata but with no luck, since nobody had told him it was just on the other side of the docks. The only sign he could see indicated he was currently on Gwion ap Dafydd Plass, which was deep in the Mareep District and far from where he actually needed to be. In a moment of madness and desperation, he purchased a map from a local tourist information centre, but it wasn't much use, since it simply highlighted each district of the city with coloured illustrations and a short paragraph about its history. Apparently the Mareep District had come about as a result of a Welsh businessman's entrepreneurial scheme to twin Cardiff with an area well-known for Pokémon battling and establish business links that would greatly boost the finances of both cities, while the Millennium Stadium in the Welsh capital officially became known as The Castelia Stadium With Heineken. Part of the plans to convert the stadium into a love letter to Ap Dafydd's two greatest passions, rugby and battling, were scuppered by the illegality of owning Pokémon in the European Union, thus only the name was changed, with the rest of the money being fed to other development projects across Wales.

Scanning over the map in the faint hope it would give him some indication of the direction he was supposed to go to find Cafe Sonata, Jason learned a lot of irrelevant information about the city, like how alarm clocks had slowly been phased out as employers handed out free Timburrs to their staff so they could use Wake Up Slap on them instead, which led to a lot of bruised faces in the morning but at least ensured that business went more smoothly, as being slapped in the face would instantly rid them of their tiredness, especially with a hefty plank of wood involved. On the left hand side of the map, running parallel of Gym Street, was what he'd been looking for, the Meloetta District, named for the legend of a Pokémon that some suspected didn't even exist.

Coming to the big city on a Saturday had not been one of Jason's best ideas, as the weekend was the absolute busiest time, especially in the shopping precincts. He now found himself walking down Gatito Street, located just inside the Ferrothorn District, so named because there were several branches that had become ingrained and imprinted themselves across the globe, and they were responsible for keeping Unova's economy afloat. Jason counted at least thirteen different clothing stores on this street alone, all quite vastly different and distinctive, and many of which would probably get you beaten up in some cultures. He passed the commercial rival chain of Cafe Sonata, Staryubucks, and he banked on all of them being exactly the same, lacking any character and full of depressed-looking businessmen, all glued to their Apple iGears.

Cafe Sonata, when he eventually arrived there, drenched in a mixture of sea-foam and the sweat of a thousand tourists, was no better. The place seemed to be a hangout for hippies and hipsters alike, basically, the sorts of people society as a whole would shun. Strangely, though, the atmosphere was similar, everyone sat around the tables with their frappe latte mocha things that were more foam than liquid looking solemn, checking their X-Transceiver messages or browsing the internet. One unkempt and overweight young man scribbled away in a small notepad, while a purple-haired student sprayed his coffee everywhere as a result of attempted to drink it before it was cool. The only sound apart from the occasional coughing and shuffling was the sound of an acoustic guitar rendition of the rallying ballad, 'Route 10,' being played by the long-haired gentleman situated near the counter. Jason allowed him to continue his ballad and approached the barista, who coincidentally also owned the place.

"Hey kid, this your first time coming here?" he asked. He didn't wait for an answer; he simply handed over a Moomoo Milk free of charge. "On the house, company policy, all new visitors get a Moomoo Milk."

"Sorry, I'm lactose intolerant," Jason lied. He could consume as many dairy products as he wanted; he just despised milk in its liquid form.

"Oh, OK." The barista swapped the milk for a lemonade. "Knew it was a good idea to keep these under here!"

"Actually I was kind of hoping you had food," Jason said, taking the lemonade.

"Sure thing, but it's gonna cost ya extra! Name's Hank," the manager informed him, extending a hand, "and this here's Austin." He moved his arm to the left, indicating the guitarist.

"Well, nice to meet you I suppose," Jason said.

"You want a bagel? That'll be 200 pok**é***!" Hank made assumptions for his customers, it seemed, but Jason didn't object, he simply handed over the cash and in exchange was handed a fresh bagel that had probably been prepared in anticipation of his arrival. He thanked Hank and then made his way back outside, just as Austin began to play an acoustic version of Surfin' Bird.

Since the 'old friend' had not been thoughtful enough to actually arrange a time for them to meet, Jason entered the abandoned offices to find them as empty as he'd expected an abandoned building to be. Oddly, the door actually opened out into the boardroom, complete with a long elliptical table and an abundance of scattered chairs littered around, which at some point would have been arranged around the table. The place could not have been abandoned long, since the many PCs were still hooked up and operating. In the absence of his 'old friend', Jason sat himself down in one of the few upright chairs and started on his seemingly pre-determined lunch of a plain bagel and free lemonade.

* * *

_Damn, this job is boring sometimes, _Victor thought, as he succumbed to his primal urges and reached for one of his copies of Playboy Unova, which just happened to be the Gym Leader Special from 2009 featuring an Elesa centrefold from back before she dyed her hair black (Victor always did have a thing for leggy blondes). Despite the clean-cut image of the Pokémon world presented in most forms of media, not everyone was naive and of course that sort of thing was around, but for the most part Trainers couldn't afford to keep their magazines around with them when they needed the endless amount of space in their bags for more important items, and it was never easy to find somewhere they wouldn't be disturbed. Even in the privacy of his own office he couldn't catch a break, as there was a knock on the door almost as soon as he'd found the page he was looking for. Hurriedly he threw the magazine back onto the pile and made sure his fly was still zipped up before answering the door.

"Oh, you're back," he said rather disappointedly, "and you didn't even bring me pizza."

"Now's not the time, Victor!" Lisa snapped, "Do you ever take your work seriously?"

"Eh..." Victor feigned a long, hard thought on the matter, "...nope."

"Thought not," Lisa scoffed, "anyway, I need you to do something else for me." She handed some sheets of paper to Victor, who took them and subsequently managed to drop most of them.

"Once you're done being incompetent, I want you to read through those and then file them in the correct folders," she continued, indicating the filing cabinet next to his desk, which had one drawer left half-open from the last time it was used, which was roughly a month ago when Victor had been looking for a document that he later realised was actually on his desk the whole time.

"That's it?" he asked, looking up from the pile of papers he was still gathering up.

"Of course," Lisa smiled, "it's just about on your level, after all." Victor rolled his eyes, before returning his attention to the papers he was about to store away. As Lisa was about to leave, a sudden thought struck him.

"Lisa, are you absolutely sure about this whole thing? I mean, do you really think we can pull this off with such low numbers?" he asked, for once showing some sort of commitment to the great task they had been planning for quite some time now.

"Victor, I served in the US military for over ten years," she replied. "Have a little faith, would you?"

"I know that," Victor said, "but seriously, they have far higher numbers than we could ever hope to get."

"It will be difficult," Lisa conceded, "but we have to do this. If we want to show those bastards we mean business, we have to strike now, and we have to strike hard. But now they know we're coming, and they'll be prepared, which makes things even tougher."

"Look, Lisa, I know I don't take this stuff too seriously most of the time, but I really don't think this is a good idea," Victor confessed. "It's taken five years to come to this, that's nearly a fifth of my life. You know how much that means?" Part of it was a genuine concern about the mission at hand, another part was the prospect of having to make himself useful, but Victor definitely felt fear. Whenever he thought about what was about to come, his stomach turned, his mind reeled, his sympathetic nervous system kicked into overdrive. He had never known true fear, he realised. Not until now.

"Yes I do," Lisa said. "Way back when I started out in the US Military, I'd gone from a quiet life in California to suddenly being out on the front lines in Afghanistan, just like that. Nothing prepared me for what was to come. I've seen things you wouldn't believe. Innocent people, good people, killed for their beliefs. You think I'm not scared, Victor? No matter how many times you go out there, no matter what it is you've gotta face, that fear never goes away. It's part of being human. All you can do is not let it overwhelm you."

"Yeah, well, back then there were hundreds of others just like you in the same situation," Victor said, "and what do we have? Us two, the surveillance guy, an engineer and a medic. That's not gonna get us through this."

"It will. Just trust me, soldier." Lisa winked, then left Victor to his file-sorting assignment. Shuffling back to his desk with a disorganised bunch of papers in hand, he still didn't feel much better about the current predicament. There was too much at stake, and they had too few resources. It was a colossal risk to take out one relatively small camp, all to make a name for themselves, and for all Lisa's determination, she thought the same. Not willing to dwell on it, Victor placed the scattered papers on his desk. He could easily finish that later, and anyway, he had other priorities. Like finding the Elesa centrefold again. He reached back to the humungous pile of magazines he'd collected and never bothered to move and, reclining in his office chair, resolved to find that centrefold again, and hoped this time he wouldn't be interrupted.

* * *

Lunch came and went, but still nobody had turned up. Jason grew impatient, his bagel was long gone, and he'd been taking the occasional swig of lemonade so that he would at least have some way to pass the time. He'd tried the lights, but it seemed the bulbs were blown except the one circular one in the middle of the ceiling, creating a spotlight effect, and the PCs were all either locked up with the company password or so slow that it was not worth using them. By now the memories of the previous night had returned, and they were about as mundane as he'd expected them to be. It was almost a disappointment that it turned out he hadn't been drugged or anything equally extreme, but at the same time it was a relief. With that saga resolved, there was nothing else for it but to open the parcel and find out what he'd actually been given.

"What does all this mean?" he fathomed, tearing open the packaging to reveal a white book, a pocket watch and a shard of mirror with a post-it attached to it, which had 'Here Mike, this will explain everything' written on it. None of the items seemed to have any relation to one another, and the angelic tome was completely blank despite its ornate cover suggesting that some great secrets may be hidden within. He decided he was going to need some help solving this, and dialled Rebecca's number.

"Come on, pick up!" he urged, hearing her X-Transceiver ring once, twice, then thrice, before finally cutting to voicemail.

"Umm..." he began, in the most perfect way to start a sentence concerning a great riddle, "hey, Rebecca, how are you? Anyway, er... I have a favour to ask. What do a white book, a pocket watch and a shard of mirror have in common? I'd ask Owen but I don't think he'd know. Well, see ya Monday I suppose..." he finished. He never had got used to voicemail, and the entire time he was aware of how preposterous his request must have sounded.

After another ten minutes of waiting around, with no signs of this 'old friend' ever turning up, Jason decided he'd take in a bit of the fresh sea air before returning home. The only real consolation was that he had at least done something productive over the weekend instead of watching TV and trying to train a few of his Pokémon to become slightly more useful, which was not going too well.

Opening the door out into Castelia's alleyways, Jason half-expected it to be dark, a similar effect to that experienced after a trip to the cinema when, after being sat in a dark theatre for hours, you expect the outside world to be pitch-black as well, which is usually not the case except in the middle of winter. This was one of the shadier areas of Castelia City, where the criminal scum would hang out and deal illegally-obtained PP Ups and other vitamins that would strengthen Pokémon, and less commonly, were distilled into liquid form and injected by thrill-seeking humans, often with rather nasty consequences.

A shady-looking businessman who appeared to be trying to be passing himself off as one of the Men in Black appeared from beside the bins lined up near the walls opposite the abandoned office block, a TM held in his outstretched hand.

"Wanna see my Flash?" he propositioned Jason, who immediately fled.

* * *

The man in black shrugged and went back to hiding behind the bins, where he and a group of dishevelled tramps lived, using a thrown-out TM manufacturing machine to create an infinite amount of copies of Flash, since that was the only one they had the mould for.

"We lost another one!" he yelled, throwing the disk at one of his fellow homeless, who dodged out of the way just in time, and the CD shattered against a wall.

"Ah, buggrit," the Dodger mumbled. Another man, who happened to have a Ducklett on his head, nodded in agreement, almost tipping the Flying-type off his head and into his lap.

"Watch out, Greg, you nearly lost your Ducklett!" the man in black cried, as feathers descended into Greg's lap.

"What Ducklett?" Greg asked incredulously, scattering more feathers everywhere and sending the others into fits of mirth. This happened roughly once every minute and had become a huge running joke in the homeless community, which was full of distinctive and crazy characters such as Greg the Ducklett Man and Despicable Old Rupert, previously known as the Dodger for his adeptness at avoiding thrown TMs.

"Who the bloody hell was that kid anyways?" the man in black bellowed.

"Buggrit," Despicable Old Rupert replied, since none of the others had seen the boy passing as they were hidden out of sight tending to the machine that manufactured an implement that could create bright lights in caves.

"Very helpful Rupe," the man in black said sarcastically. "Alright lads, I'm going off after him, stay here and keep the machine going would you?"

"Don't worry 'bout a thing, boss!" Greg assured him, his Ducklett flapping its wings and spraying feathers everywhere again. Little did they know that their boss would be struck down by a kunai fizzing through the air and embedding itself into his right kidney...

* * *

Jason was sat on one of the benches down by the docks, taking in the fresh ocean air. He tried to piece everything together, wondering why on earth he had been dragged all the way out here for the sake of three seemingly random objects, a no-show and a suspicious man giving away TMs in a creepy and exhibitionist manner. _I hope Rebecca got that message, _Jason thought, _perhaps this time her mother 's gone a step further and confiscated her X-Transceiver as well_. The way things were going he suspected Rebecca would be forcefully evicted from the property sooner or later, and she'd have to move elsewhere, but that was irrelevant to his current plight. Jason's real interest now was trying to decipher the meaning behind his mysterious gift.

He watched as the small ferry to Liberty Garden set sail from the harbour, taking a small selection of wealthy passengers to visit the lighthouse that for hundreds of years had held Victini, which was highly sought after by Team Plasma due to its ability to create seemingly endless amounts of energy. Their plan had been thwarted by the vigilante hero Hilbert Blair, who decided against capturing the creature against its will, allowing it to live out the rest of its days powering the lighthouse to guide stranded vessels to its shores. After this encounter the spot had become somewhat of a tourist destination, with hundreds flocking to see the lighthouse, the bright lights of which were unmatched by anything mankind could produce, beating out even the torches with the brightness of a million candles, much to the chagrin of Rhod Gilbert.

Even from the Liberty Pier it was possible to see the light of Victini shining like a heavenly beacon across the seas, although during the day this effect was somewhat muted. Jason had always been fascinated by the tales of Legendary Pokémon, and this particular tale of a young man from Nuvema Town meeting such a powerful entity appealed to him as it suggested that even the most ordinary of people may one day be in the presence of the greatest and most powerful Pokémon in existence. Perhaps that was why the Dark Stone had been stolen, someone like him had taken their obsession with the legendaries too far and their delusions of grandiose had led them to believe that by stealing the Dark Stone they would be imbued with the power of Zekrom. While pondering who would do such a thing, the air around Jason became noticeably colder. The breeze felt no less intense, so it had to be something else causing the sudden temperature drop. _Gengar, perhaps?,_ Jason considered, as the air grew colder still. Now he swore that there were shapes forming before his eyes, and a voice like ice gave one short command.

"You will come with us..."

* * *

***Regarding currency, I'm sticking with in-game prices as a sort of guideline, and using the term poké since it's shorter and snappier than 'pokedollars' and also shares its name with the Pokémon Mystery Dungeon currency, thus it seems logical to assume the main islands in which the games take place also use this currency.**


	5. Chapter 4: Looking for Jason

**Chapter 4: Looking For Jason**

"What? Again? Argh, damnit..." Owen recalled his sparring partner, a Machoke named Hogan, to its Pokeball as his X-Transceiver played 'Secret Agent Man' for the second time that day. Of the three in his most intimate circle, Owen was the one most involved with his Pokémon, mostly Fighting-types, as they proved to be excellent opponents for hand-to-hand combat, and Owen had managed to match his Machoke's strength after years of hard training. With a job that often required heavy lifting, it was important to keep up his strength, and what better way to show it off than going toe-to-toe with something that lifts boulders for fun?

"Oh, hey Rebecca, how's it going?" he asked, trying to mask his irritation at being interrupted once again.

"As well as one would expect," Rebecca replied, "but I have something rather important to tell you about."

"Lemme guess, this is about Jason right?"

"Why, yes it is," Rebecca said, "he left a message earlier. It was something to do with a book, a shard of mirror and a watch. So far I've had no luck with finding a connection between them."

"Sounds like a load of voodoo crap if you ask me," Owen snorted dismissively. "He called me earlier, said something about meeting up with someone in Castelia. You don't think he's got involved with one of those cults do you?"

"I would hope not," Rebecca said, "those types are often bad influences." For a short while Owen heard nothing but the sound of fast and furious typing, followed by a gasp as it seemed Rebecca had found a lead.

"Owen," she said quickly, "you need to get to Castelia as quickly as possible, I fear Jason may be in danger!"

"You really think so?" Owen enquired.

"Yes, I do," Rebecca replied, seemingly trying to break the sound barrier through speech. "If my search results are correct then I believe Jason may have become involved with a rouge element derived from Team Galactic."

"You sure about that?" _Not this nonsense again. They're both as bad as each other with this stuff..._

"Not entirely but there is a definite correlation. Have you ever read Alice in Wonderland, Owen?"

"What kind of dumb question is that? Course I have! Although saying that I haven't read a book since Mr. Nice, and that was back when I was still in school."

"That will suffice. It amazes me I never thought of this before your mention of cults, it fits perfectly. As you should know, the White Rabbit features prominently, and is synonymous with the pocket watch he carries, our first item. In Through The Looking Glass, Alice enters another world through the use of a mirror, the second item. I should not have to inform you that the third item connects due to it being written literature. Also, Wonderland and the unnamed realm from the second story both have the dream-like qualities of a lack of laws of physics, inherently associated with the Distortion World in which Team Galactic's leader, Cyrus, was trapped. My belief is that through this series of clues the recipient is supposed to surmise that Team Galactic are not finished..."

"Alright, calm down already," Owen said, "I'll go if you want. Gimme a few minutes and I'll be on my way!"

"Thank you Owen," Rebecca cried with relief, "I'm glad there's someone who can help."

"No problem," Owen assured her, "I'll knock some sense into those idiots. See ya!" He hung up before Rebecca had a chance to say goodbye, which was impolite but understandable given the potential severity of the situation. _Is this for real? She really thinks Team Galactic are coming back, here of all places? _As usual, Owen found this rather hard to believe. After the disappearance of their leader, Team Galactic had mostly disbanded and had certainly stopped researching ways to manipulate space-time. Besides, if all this was true, what could they possibly want with Jason?

After showering and changing from his gym gear to a more acceptable get-up, Owen left Accumula on a hunt for people worshipping a long-dead man trapped in the dimension of madness.

* * *

Today just kept getting worse for Jason, first he'd had to escape the wrath of Rebecca's wicked mother, then he'd been led on a wild goose chase by a prankster, and now he was tied to a chair in what looked like someone's basement in Arceus-Knows-Where City (just south of We-Need-A-Map Town). The room seemed to mainly be filled with boxes full of junk, probably things they'd picked up off the streets but one of the boxes contained three objects that set off the warning bells in Jason's mind. One of them looked like a large blue diamond, another a smooth pearl and the last a yellow craggy rock abomination. _Adamant, Lustrous, Griseous. That's impossible..._

The trio stood before him seemed to be based here, since there was what looked like a desk in one corner and a walk-in wardrobe to the right of him. The three were rather oddly-dressed, wearing some sort of ninja-inspired gear, with the bottom half of their faces obscured by black scarves. One of them, whom Jason assumed must be the leader, stepped forward, and Jason instinctively tried to move back in his seat but was unable to.

"...So tell us, young Green, what do you know about us?" he requested.

"I..." Jason started, before the three gleaming objects caught his eye again and the warning bells gave way to a light bulb. The words of Taggart echoed in his brain: '_There were three of them...'_

"You stole the Dark Stone from the museum!" he blurted out. The leader started clapping sarcastically.

"Very well done, Mr. Green," he said. "Unfortunately, for reasons you will never understand, we cannot let you leave here. This is where our saga ends. Hopefully. This should be sufficient."

"What are you even talking about?" Jason asked. His expression was a mixture of perplexion, bemusement and gut-wrenching fear, the uncertainty of his fate combined with the prospect of these thieves continuing to steal valuable artefacts relating to Legendary Pokémon.

"This is something we must do," the leader said coolly, "it is a shame when things happen out of sequence, but in this case we have no choice. The other alternative would involve kidnapping another child, and that was traumatic enough the first time."

"You did _what_?" Jason exclaimed.

"...Nothing," his captor quickly said to avoid more awkward questions. "Unfortunately, your time grows short. Darius, finish him." Another of the three mysterious figures turned around at the mention of his name, tossing a Pokeball upwards in his left hand and brandishing a set of knuckle-dusters in the other. The other thief simply stared at the wall behind them, lost in his own thoughts.

"This should be fun!" Darius cackled gleefully. He discarded the Pokeball over his shoulder, seeing no need for it. One well-placed punch to the side of the head was all it took before Jason slumped, knocked unconscious by a single blow.

* * *

Now that Lisa had all the information she needed, the plan could finally proceed. For some, there were still some loose ends to tie up in the real world, and once the attack on the desert fort went ahead, those bonds would have to be severed, as it would be far too large a risk to stay in touch with those outside of the operation. Hostility would be the only thing that awaited them in the outside world, as far as the masses were concerned, they would be branded as terrorists, even though their cause was just and their true aim was to put an end to the atrocities that were allowed to occur right under the government's noses. This was just the beginning of a saga that would take them across the continent, which they had been plotting for months from a small base, hidden in plain sight in Unova's largest city, among the empty shells of once-magnificent corporate buildings that had been the bedrock of Castelia's powerful economic force. Five years, five goddamn years it had taken to get this far, and finally they had something concrete.

Soon, Lisa would be leading the charge through the desert, with the reconstructed Route 4 the first port of call. The new town had become notoriously dangerous, with many of the inhabitants being involved with some shady business or other, but this way was the quickest and she was confident of being able to handle herself should conflict break out earlier than expected. Attempting to recruit a few expendables could benefit the operation, too, but it was going to be risky trying to convince them to leave their alcoholic lifestyles behind.

The sudden drop in morale around the place had become a concern to Lisa. The pressure being put upon them to succeed was indeed great, and the fact that hardly any time remained until they were supposed to bring about the downfall of their powerful adversaries dragged them deeper into the doldrums. When even Victor, notorious among the party for his complete disregard for the outside world, was on the verge of despair, it was obvious something needed to be done to avoid the mission being compromised. A meeting was scheduled for later that afternoon to discuss exactly how they were to go about their mission, and hopefully the key member of the group would return in time.

After offloading administrative duties to the resident jack-of-all-trades (and definitely master of none), Lisa thought it would probably best to check up on their head of security, Rick Hughes, a natural pessimist who really just preferred to keep out of the way of others, and sitting in front of a bunch of screens for hours on end was his perfect occupation as it required the least amount of actual human interaction of the roles required by their operation. Lisa made sure to knock first so as not to incur the wrath of a reclusive sociopath.

"You can come in," he said in a voice that made Marvin the Paranoid Android look positively upbeat by comparison, "not like I've got anything better to do. God I hate this job."

"You're the one who offered," Lisa replied as she opened the door. Rick turned round, a half-eaten packet of Jaffa Cakes resting in his lap. Flecks of chocolate and gooey orangey stuff had seemingly become magnetically attracted to his shirt and unshaven face, but Rick never cared about his appearance, especially seeing as nobody outside the base would ever see his face anyway. His glasses begun to slide down the bridge of his nose, hanging precariously, and he pushed them back up to their regular position before brushing a few crumbs off and swivelling his chair back round towards the wall of monitors. His job extended to every area of their base, including the unused upper floors and the underground car park, as it was impossible to tell when the enemy would decide to strike and from where, and through rerouting a few external cameras the team had a view of the streets immediately outside their base.

"Oh, look who's back," he murmured, pointing to a golden figure on one of the street monitors, "our old friend the Living Statue."

"Why does he even bother?" Lisa asked rhetorically. "Nobody in their right mind would ever walk down these streets, let alone give him money." It was true, apart from the golden-painted fool on screen and the homeless people that by now many had learned to ignore, the backstreets of Castelia had mainly been abandoned by regular folk.

"Worst part is he's been there since 11 this morning," Rick said, handing Lisa a printed screenshot from the monitor with a timestamp confirming that the Living Statue had been stood in the exact same spot for over two hours. _To be fair to him,_ she thought, _living in this place is enough to drive anyone insane._

"Any other noteworthy incidents?" she requested, handing back the printout, which Rick promptly crumpled into a ball and carelessly flung behind his shoulder, completely missing the wastepaper basket mounted on the wall like a makeshift basketball hoop. The paper ball landed on top of a pile of similarly failed projectiles, like a Pidove's egg atop a nest made from the ruined remains of its unfortunate brethren.

"Nothing at all," Rick replied unhelpfully, "and you wonder why nobody else offered to do this job."

"At least there's someone I can rely on around here," Lisa said supportively, "can you imagine Victor trying to do this job? It was hard enough getting him to even send those files over..."

"I'd hardly call this a job," Rick moaned, turning his attention back to the Jaffa Cakes, "a Chimchar could probably do it."

"What's it gonna take to cheer you up, huh?" Lisa asked, placing a hand on Rick's shoulder. He always had been difficult, and really this was nothing out of the ordinary, but Lisa was determined to keep the gang focused for the task ahead.

"Something actually happening," Rick sighed, slumping over the desk directly in front of one of the street-level screens. If he had been sat back enough to make anything out, he would have seen that something was indeed happening. Two shadowy figures had materialised near the dumpsters where the homeless of Castelia congregated, carrying some sort of large object, which they were in the process of hurling into one of the open skips.

"Well, Rick, looks like you got your wish," Lisa commented, referring to the screen he was partially blocking. She placed her trademark Glock on the desk next to Rick, believing that her Pokémon would be more than enough to scare these fools off, and besides, the homeless seemed to be petrified of anything non-human bar the Ducklett that was permanently perched on top of the head of one of them.

"Aren't you gonna need this?" Rick asked, half-heartedly waving the gun while holding it by the barrel. Lisa turned round before dismissively waving away his request.

"I don't think that's gonna be necessary," she said, unhooking a Pokeball from her belt. "On second thoughts," she reconsidered, snatching the gun out of Rick's hand, "leaving that with you would be a terrible idea." After finally deciding to take the Glock, Lisa departed for real this time, exiting the base in order to face down these mysterious interlopers.

* * *

"'E's the one, alright! It was 'im what killed the Guv'nor!" Greg exclaimed, pointing a condemning finger at the boy whom he had found lying in the depths of his sleeping quarters. "Now he's got the bloody cheek to nick me bed!"

"Don't be such a soft sod Greg," another vagrant said, running up beside Greg. He was known as Piano Man by his fellow homeless due to his crooked fingers, a condition allegedly caused by a horrific incident involving a grand piano. He strode up to the skip and began hauling out the boy, without much success.

"Think we're gonna need some 'elp with this one. Lurch!" he called, backing away from the dumpster. Out from the shadows skulked a hulking giant of a man, who with half a brain would have been extremely dangerous and intimidating, but as is typical of men built like beasts he had as much wit and charisma as a used teabag and significantly less intellect.

"Gi' us an 'and would ya, there's a good lad!" Piano Man encouraged the man-child, waving a packet of digestives at him. Lurch's eyes lit up, through the years of tolerating his presence in these alleys Piano Man had learned that a pack of McVities' finest was sufficient reward to entice this grotesque being to do anything asked of him, so long as it was simple enough for him to understand. Lurch tipped over the skip with just one arm, spilling rotting rubbish all over the alley, not that anyone minded since they were by now accustomed to the smell of fermented trash.

"'Ere you go then, there's a good boy! Fetch!" Piano Man commanded, flinging the biscuits to his far right. Lurch was powerless to resist the allure of the digestives and dutifully followed the cylindrical pack as it whooshed through the air, landing several feet away. While the oaf was distracted by what could hardly be called 'confectionary' as that would indicate a level of sweetness, something reserved only for the special chocolate variety which were illegal in Unova after one was used in the murder of an influential politician, the other vagabonds proceeded to rifle through the unconscious boy's pockets. Apart from an expired bus ticket and several Flake wrappers, their search was futile, until Greg cried out in surprise.

"Oi, Ducklett Man, what've ya found?" Piano Man asked, trying to get a closer look.

"Stop going on about that bloody Ducklett!" Greg yelled, refusing to hand over his prize while the Ducklett flapped relentlessly, coating the surrounding area in feathers.

"Buggrit!" Despicable Old Rupert shouted from behind the other skip, trying to get back to sleep after the initial rude interruption.

"Yes, Rupe, we know, you've not slept proper for 3 days and you've still got itchy balls," Piano Man said, "but don't you be getting lippy wi' me lad!" That seemed to quieten him down a bit.

"Now, Greg, what's this you found?" Piano Man asked again, hoping this time by avoiding his delusional friend's trigger he would get an honest answer.

"I ain't tellin' you nuffink!" Greg replied, the Ducklett still flapping and quacking frantically trying to escape, which it couldn't because its wings had been clipped and it was superglued to Greg's scalp. Piano Man lunged forwards, his crooked hands grasping at the object Greg possessed. The impact sent it flying, eventually clattering against the wall. While the two vagrants fought over nothing, it starting bleeping, and after a few seconds the display flashed up a message.

"1 missed call: Rebecca."

* * *

Lurch was completely oblivious to the shenanigans his fellow street-walkers were involved in; he was far too absorbed in the crumbs of pure ecstasy that remained of the swiftly-demolished digestives. He could not resist obsessively hunting down every last one; such was his love of biscuits. He may not have been able to handle basic numerical skills, but when his favourite thing in the entire world was involved anything was possible. One time he'd even pulled a train carriage along the streets while a pack of Rich Teas was suspended above his head on a string just out of his reach, a cruel trick played on him by the smarter fellows surrounding him.

Sometimes he was able to imagine he was back home, his mother cooking home-made biscuit dough for the bakery that she and her husband, Gordon LeBouche, ran.

"Don't touch that, Alfie!" his mother often scolded him (and of course, by often, what is truly meant is every single day). Living above their work was ideal, they had just enough room for themselves and no more, since they never had anyone else round and little Alfie could easily sneak into the kitchen and help himself to as much dough as he wanted, but their business came with its drawbacks. None of Castelia's extremely judgmental children wanted to play with the poor baker's son, especially one whose father unleashed a barrage of expletives if he was so much as looked at in a funny way, and as the years went by Alfie had completely withdrawn and become drawn into the world of crime, which only served to fuel his biscuit addiction further. Old Bill the Sausage-Smuggler had taught him well, although Lurch no longer fit through drainpipes or air vents he was able to break down any door, leaving the world's most skilled homosexual burglar to fix it afterwards, which he always would with his magic screwdriver. Of course, the screwdriver wasn't actually magic, it just had interchangeable heads, but Old Bill thought that it was easier to explain to a 12-year old biscuit addict with suspected mental deficiencies that his screwdriver had been given to him by a powerful wizard rather than going in depth about how it actually worked.

Distracted by a combination of nostalgia and determination to mop up all the remaining crumbs, he never noticed the woman in fatigues behind him, wielding a high-powered army-issued pistol...

* * *

"D'you 'ear that?" Piano Man said, breaking away from Greg momentarily.

"Yeah," Greg replied, grasping the Ducklett's bill in his left hand to stop it quacking despite not believing in its existence.

"We'd best be quiet, we don't know what that could be," Piano Man whispered, creeping cautiously behind the right skip where Despicable Old Rupert lay. Greg followed him, leaving a trail of blue feathers in his wake. Trying to squeeze in comfortably behind the rubbish container, he planted his right foot in an area of Rupert's anatomy that was already suffering enough after that night with the cheap Hoennian girl, waking him immediately.

"Buggrit!" he screamed, with both of the other vagrants instinctively hushing him and clamping their hands over his mouth before simultaneously moving them away again after realising they'd made physical contact.

"Bloody 'ell, Greg, you could've 'id in t' other one!" Piano Man hissed, "Now whoever it is'll know where we are you daft bugger!"

"Sorry," Greg whimpered, "I couldn't 'elp it."

"It's a bit bloody late for sorry now," Piano Man said. He peered out from the side of the skip to see if he could spot the source of the noise. He had to stifle a gasp as he witnessed the woman in army gear dragging Lurch along by his feet, the shredded remains of the digestives scattered along the path. She propped him up against the very skip that his three companions were hidden behind, attempting to left him into it by his armpits, but his weight was too much for one person to handle and she admitted defeat, letting him slump to the floor in his unconscious state. Piano Man breathed a sigh of relief; he didn't have a hole in his head which was a good sign. For moment, he panicked, as the woman began moving in his direction, but her attention was held by the precious device that Greg had found in the pocket of the young man.

"Could it be... nah, can't be," he heard her say, before stashing the device into one of her baggy pockets. He also noticed several Pokeballs hanging from her belt; there was no hope of them retrieving their prize now, especially with Lurch out of action. The woman spun round and almost tripped over the owner of the device, but regained her composure and crouched down, checking his airways for any obstructions. Carefully, she placed him in the recovery position, then reached to her ear, which began glowing blue.

"No sign of those shadowy guys," she reported, "but I need you out here stat! Airways are clear, and he's breathing, but he's definitely unconscious. Looks like blunt force trauma, could be serious. Let's hope our facilities are enough..."


	6. Chapter 5: A Solemn Mood

**Chapter 5: A Solemn Mood**

Rebecca always dreaded the ringing of the lunch bell. Every single time it caught her off guard and interrupted her work, disrupting a potential new tool of cyber-destruction or groundbreaking technological discovery, dragging her from the one means of escape she had during the weekends when her tyrannical mother enforced a curfew forbidding her from leaving the Dreamyard estate. Regrettably, there was no choice for Rebecca but to go downstairs to the dining hall and pretend to appreciate the elaborate dishes cooked for the family by the poor fellows in their employment.

Things would have been more bearable had her father still been around, but of course he had to be the one who contracted a lethal strain of Pokerus from Hoenn. She had tried her best to repress the memories of the man she had admired and adored more than anyone else deteriorating as she watched helplessly, even going so far as to pretend to her closest friends that he was still alive but very secretive, hence why he was never seen, but she knew the harsh reality, he was scattered around the vast garden surrounding the Smith mansion, beginning a new stage of the circle of life.

Solemnly, Rebecca switched the PC to standby and slid out of her chair, making her way to the grand hall where the rest of the family had already congregated. Several distant cousins gave her foul looks as she took her seat near the head of the table, a seat left open in honour of her late father as it had been for so long now. Her mind wandered back to Jason, desperately hoping he was safe. She had tried to call him back earlier after sending Owen out to Castelia after him, but to no avail. Ever since that morning, strange events seemed to be happening. From her perusal of the day's news feed it seemed that there were signs of agitation in areas strongly linked with Pokémon spoken of in legend, which combined with irregular weather patterns across Unova could only be an indication of oncoming disaster. _Could it be that somehow this is all connected to a single incident?_ she thought, but before being able to continue there was an interruption.

"Et voila!" one of the servants shouted triumphantly, as the incredibly posh people who are still unaccountably waiters began serving today's special. "Smoked breast of Unfezant is the meal of the day. Be careful," the servant continued, "there might be a few pellets still left in it." Immediately Rebecca was repulsed, the very idea of eating something killed in such a barbaric manner and prepared with so little disregard for human health was disgusting. It didn't help that she could clearly see an indentation in her serving that indicated that there was ammunition lodged in it. Postponing the meat for as long as possible, she gingerly tucked into the surrounding vegetables, knowing that they at least weren't butchered by a poorly-paid delusional gunman.

"Whatever is the matter, dear?" her mother asked, attempting to feign that sweet loving maternal tone and failing miserably.

"You," Rebecca retorted without missing a beat. At once, everyone ceased eating, and after an initial gasp everything fell silent bar the dropping of a fork by one of her younger cousins.

"What did you say?" her mother growled.

"You're what the matter is," Rebecca said. Both stood up confrontationally as the rest of the family and the servants watched intently. Tension was always high at mealtimes, but this was the first time Rebecca had actually defied her own mother. "Ever since Father passed away you've been acting like the Pope, always trying to control me through fear and intimidation, and I simply won't stand for it anymore!"

"You dare defy your own mother?" the Evil One responded. "I've never known anyone be so disrespectful in my life! You've ruined this family, Rebecca! No daughter of mine should act in such a manner! Out of my sight!" Rebecca ran out of the dining hall, forcing back the tears as she stomped upstairs.

"My apologies," she heard her mother say, calming herself almost instantly, "it seems that mingling with the common folk has had rather a bad influence. I shan't allow such a commotion to occur again." It was obvious that while this wayward child still resided in the Smith household, there would always be conflict. Fortunately for the snooty inbred twits surrounding her, Rebecca had other ideas.

* * *

"Alright, how many fingers am I holding up?"

Jason had awoken in a small room full of janitorial equipment, barely long enough to fit in the hospital bed he was currently laid out on. Across from him sat a dark-skinned woman in a plain blouse and jeans, holding out her hand with one finger outstretched.

"Umm... two?" he guessed incorrectly. He had been hit with quite some force, although it seemed not to be too serious, his vision seemed fuzzy and it was painful to concentrate.

"Ok," the woman replied, "now, who is the Prime Minister?"

"Erm... Winston Churchill," Jason hazarded a guess, knowing he was probably wrong. Of course he was, since Churchill had been dead for over 50 years by this point but that was irrelevant.

"Alright, can you remember your name?"

"Green. Jason Green."

"Good. I'm Kathy," she said, offering a hand to Jason. Her grip was surprisingly limp, but Jason was no handshake expert and took no notice, besides, there was the double vision and crippling headache to worry about. "Sorry, but I'm gonna have to prop you up for a bit," she continued, using the bed's mechanisms to raise Jason to a seated position. If this was a hospital it was a very rudimentary one, Jason could clearly see that on the table to Kathy's right there was a pack (or was that two packs?) of cheap unbranded supermarket aspirin and similarly shady cold and flu capsules. Behind her on a low shelf lay an assortment of bandages and plasters, with a few other non-prescription drugs dotted around.

"This isn't helping..." he muttered weakly, doing his best to halt the ascent of the bile gathering in his throat due to everything seemingly swimming. The next thing he knew he saw a pair of cups of water being handed to him along with some of the cheap aspirin.

"Take these," Kathy suggested, "it'll at least help with the pain. Unfortunately we've not got anything stronger." Since he didn't trust his own hand-eye co-ordination, Jason resorted to holding out his palms and allowing Kathy to place the pills in one hand and help him grasp the clear plastic cup in another. After taking the aspirin, Jason felt slightly better although his throat was still burning from the excess acid that had risen up his oesophagus and attempted to make a break for it.

"Am I in a private ward?" he asked deliriously.

"No, this is a cupboard," Kathy replied bluntly, gradually lowering the bed now she'd got some medication into her patient. "It's a long story. For now you need to rest. You're safe now, don't worry." She smiled at Jason, hoping he would take her advice and sleep it off instead of worrying about the circumstances they were in.

"Ok," Jason said weakly, allowing himself to drift off down the royal road of the unconscious while Kathy left the cupboard, satisfied with her treatment of her first new patient in a long while.

While his presence caused disruptions throughout the rest of the camp, Jason had returned to the unconscious realm, dreaming of being the legendary Hilbert Blair, traversing the land and generally adventuring. Usually in these dreams, he had Zekrom by his side, punishing evil and battling the toughest of trainers, but not today. This time he found himself living out a very familiar scenario.

* * *

After travelling across Unova, defeating all who had crossed his path, Hilbert knew this was the last stand. He had finally reached the castle of N, Team Plasma's stronghold. The Seven Sages, excluding Ghetsis, had attempted to block his path, but Bianca had the bright idea of warning Unova's Gym Leaders in advance, and they had arrived at just the right moment. After discovering more of N's troubled past and the plans Plasma had for after N's victory, Hilbert had become more determined than ever to defeat the misanthropic youth with a dragon by his side. With the Dark Stone in hand, Hilbert knew he could match the power of N, he was the hero in this tale, Zekrom's power would prevail over Reshiram and humans and Pokémon would continue to live together in relative peace and harmony. Making his way across the throne room towards his adversary, Hilbert clenched his fists tightly, attempting to keep the latent fear at bay and face his foe bravely.

"What I desire is a world for Pokémon, and Pokémon alone. I will separate Pokémon from people, so Pokémon can regain their original power," N stated, making his desires clear. Hilbert could never understand anything N had said, it all seemed so vague and abstract, and being constantly referred to as a 'friend' by him despite them being at odds had been rather baffling to say the least. Then again Hilbert suspected that N's abnormal childhood (apparently he'd been brought up by Pokémon) had contributed to a difficulty in social situations, which was understandable of course, plenty of people Hilbert had met on his travels seemed to share these tendencies, but through becoming a Trainer had gained more confidence not just in themselves but their companions. This was another reason he had become determined to stop N at any cost, despite everything the various members of Team Plasma said, it had become obvious to Hilbert that Pokémon and humans were dependent on each other, it was a symbiotic relationship dating back millennia and changing that now would bring disaster to Unova, if not the entire world.

"It's time to settle this once and for all! My determination is absolute! I will prove the value of my beliefs even if it means my Pokémon friends get hurt! Since you've come this far, I believe you are equally determined. If that's so, prove it to me! Show me the depth of your determination!" N invited Hilbert, gesturing with his arms to usher his other friends forward. Two resurrected fossils, a tricky illusionist, a living ice-cream cone and a bizarre metallic contraption gathered around their king immediately. Hilbert knew there was one more coming, but he'd been prepared for this. Luckily for him, he had the type advantage in this situation, his first Pokémon had been Oshawott, which had by now become a stalwart Samurott. He waited for the Dark Stone to do something, anything, to respond to N's challenge and bring forth Zekrom, but there was nothing.

"You came all this way to battle me…" N said, shaking his head in dismay. "But Zekrom is not responding. You haven't yet been recognized as the hero, have you? How disappointing. I actually kind of liked you a little." At this point N launched into a critical tirade. "Through our many battles, I got the feeling that you might be a Trainer who truly cares for Pokémon! But I was kidding myself. The idea of Trainers getting to know each other through battles is ridiculous! You have two options. Challenge me to a fight you can't win, or leave this place and watch the birth of a new world where Pokémon are free of people! Reshiram! Come to me!"

_Finally,_ Hilbert thought, _things are hotting up!_ The entire castle began to shake as the legendary dragon soared through the air, breaking through the back wall before landing in front of N. Still nothing happened. Hilbert struggled to keep up the cool facade, the lack of Zekrom had become a legitimate concern. If this guy could defeat the champion of Unova without any effort, then how could anyone else possibly hope to win without similar firepower?

"I guess you really aren't the legendary hero after all," N sighed. "How sad. You could have been the one to convince me to rethink the situation at hand, possibly let humans and Pokémon continue their lives together. Your heart is pure, and I am sure there are many others in the world like you. But from my own experiences the majority of Trainers show no compassion, no remorse, no love towards those that share their lives. They prefer to keep them imprisoned in their spherical dungeons until bringing them forth for the cruel and barbaric sport you and the rest of your kind partake in. Such a shame it has to come to this, but that is just how events must unfold."

Hilbert considered countering with his own rant, telling N he was wrong, he hadn't been there to see all those caring and considerate Trainers who saw their Pokémon as more than just tools of destruction, but Reshiram was waiting. He had no choice but to try, for the sake of humanity, to defeat N.

"Alright," he said, reaching to his belt for the one Pokeball that had been constant throughout his travels, "Samurott, go!" The armoured seal materialised, dwarfed by its terrifying opponent. "Use Razor Shell!" Hilbert commanded, and Samurott unsheathed one of his hidden shell blades, slashing Reshiram with an aquatically-imbued attack. Reshiram seemed unmoved, and almost immediately Samurott was defeated by a single Dragon Pulse. If this was the power of the dragons, it was no surprise that Alder had been so easily beaten. _Crap, _Hilbert thought, _I don't think I'm gonna manage this..._

"Gigalith, you're next!" he announced, sending out the monolithic monstrosity to face the dragon, cursing Zekrom for not materialising. Due to its sturdiness it was able to endure the first hit from Reshiram, countering with a powerful Stone Edge. Reshiram howled in pain, and for the first time since the battle began Hilbert held hope that he could succeed. The dragon refused to fight onwards, forcing N to choose another of his friends to go forth and finish the fight. Before Hilbert could even issue a second command, Carracosta jetted across towards Gigalith, smashing into it with colossal force. Hilbert was down two to one, but the biggest obstacle had been removed.

However, just as Hilbert reached for his third Pokémon, Eelektross, in a move designed to counter the fossils, the voice of Ghetsis rang out from behind.

"**STOP**! That is as far as you go!" The maniacal sage marched across the grand hall, several Plasma lackeys in tow, and pulled up alongside N. "Did you really think you could win against the might of Team Plasma? You may have taken Reshiram by surprise, but it is using only a fraction of its power! You can never hope to stop us!"

"Stop... you?" Hilbert asked hesitantly. "This is N's grand vision, a world where Pokémon and humans lead their own separate lives. Sure, you might be integral to his plans, but ultimately, he is king." Ghetsis began to cackle like the villain that he was.

"You just don't get it, do you? _I_ am the one in control!" he said. "Team Plasma was _my_ creation! I had planned this from the very beginning! The first stage was the most crucial, I had to imbue N here with the values of truth in order to control Reshiram, as I would obviously be unable to become the hero. All this was required to give me the ultimate power to rule over the rest of mankind. Did you really think I would dispose of such a useful tool as Pokémon? Of course not! I just cannot trust the rest of humanity with such power! They're all using it wrong! All I require is that none other than I... I mean, Team Plasma, have control over them, and through spreading word about how Trainers should be aware of the pain and suffering they cause, I have converted the people of this land to my cause! All, that is, except for _you_!" Ghetsis waved his arm towards Hilbert at this point. "Ever since we first met I knew you would be troublesome, and so I had my most loyal servants carry out surveillance on you, to discover your greatest weakness. I can confirm you _are_ the hero, but... your Dark Stone is a fake!" Ghetsis reached into his grand and elaborate robes and his hand emerged with the real Dark Stone. "Yes, the Shadow Triad have done their job to my ultimate satisfaction. I have the true artefact right here. All you need to do is surrender to our cause and it's yours, Hilbert. But of course, someone as stubborn as you will need some coaxing. Bartholomew, bring me the Psychic!"

"Y-yes, sir!" Bartholomew complied, rushing off down the hall. When he returned, he brought with him that elegant and fragile-looking woman from the Elite Four, the one Hilbert had had such a tough time with.

"Unhand me at once, you oaf!" she protested, kicking and trying to wrench herself away from the grunt who held her. The room began to reverberate with a palpable psychic energy, and Hilbert knew if they weren't careful Team Plasma could soon have a fair number of casualties on their hands.

"Do as she says, Bartholomew. We mustn't let our guests come to harm," Ghetsis ordered. Batholomew loosened his grip on the powerful Psychic trainer and she shoved him away immediately, bowling over the other grunts who had stood by like a set of statues. "Now, show our companion what all his little friends are up to..."

The room started to wobble, making Hilbert slightly queasy, and suddenly they were in what looked like a small cell. From seemingly nowhere, Cheren appeared. Immediately Hilbert noticed the fact his Pokeballs had vanished.

"I've seen the errors of my ways, Hilbert," he said. "I was too focused on making my Pokémon strong, I didn't realise the pain I was putting them through, but Team Plasma have made me realise my wrongdoings." This couldn't be right, surely? When Alder had been defeated by N, Cheren had seen that becoming the Champion meant nothing in the face of such adversity, but he wasn't the type to give up completely after one demoralising loss.

"He's right, Hilbert." This time a female voice, that of Bianca, Hilbert's other childhood friend. "Munna never was the same after being rescued from Team Plasma, and now I realise it's because she wanted to be free. I was keeping my Pokémon against their will, and now I know that was wrong." Hilbert was stunned. All her life Bianca had been waiting for the chance to become a Trainer and become friends with Pokémon, how could she throw that away so easily? This had to be a trick, but it all felt so real, so vivid.

"Is this one of your tricks, Ghetsis?" Hilbert interrogated the grand Sage.

"Not mine, no," the cruel one chuckled. "What you see is an astral projection from Miss Caitlin here, showing you what must be seen. Even your nearest and dearest have given up hope. How tragic..."

Hilbert had no time to consider this further, as the room melted away again and suddenly he was back in the grand hall from which they had come. He heard footsteps coming from behind him. There, in the doorway, there was no mistaking it; it was her, the girl he'd completely fallen for after that one fateful day they'd met on the Battle Subway. Hilda. Of all the people who'd side with Plasma, she was the last he would have expected to be converted by them, but as with his friends, her belt was devoid of Pokeballs.

"You have to believe them Hilbert," she said. "I've seen the way people abuse their Pokémon, and it needs to stop. You'd trust me, right?" Hilbert broke down. How could this have happened? Here, the love of his life, the one he'd chosen to devote the rest of his life to, who'd seemed to be almost a mirror image of himself, had chosen to side with the enemy. All this had become too much.

"Why?" he cried. "Why would you join them?"

"Because they're doing the right thing," Hilda replied. "This is something we have to do, we have to show the world how wrong they are." Hilbert, tears streaming down his face, turned back towards Ghetsis, who was grinning from ear to ear as he witnessed the emotional destruction of his enemy.

"You'll pay!" Hilbert yelled, pointing at Ghetsis, his hand quivering violently as he did so. "You'll pay for what you've done to them!"

"Oh, please, there's no need for hostility," Ghetsis retorted coolly, "your friends have seen that we are right, yet you continue to deny it. Don't you see it? You can't stop us alone, you have no choice!" Hilbert had to admit he had a point there. After all, if Reshiram had only been fighting with a mere fragment of its true potential, there was nothing he could do to stop it when N commanded it to attack with its true might. But what of the Gym Leaders, and the Elite Four? What would happen to them? If the Champion himself couldn't defeat N, then they were fighting a losing battle.

"Come now, make your decision," N said. "Maybe now we really could be friends."

"You'd really side with _him_?" Hilbert bawled, indicating Ghetsis. "He ruined your life, he tortured you for his own sick twisted desires, yet you're still willing to stand by him?"

"Why would he not?" Ghetsis asked. "I raised him, after all."

"You're being used! How do you not see that?" Hilbert said exasperatedly. N simply stared at the floor, wishing this confrontation would be over already. Hilbert felt a hand on his shoulder, he knew who it was, but his heart was torn.

"Listen to him, Hilbert," she whispered, "he's right." N's various friends kept a close eye on Hilbert, waiting for him to send out Eelektross, but instead, he dropped the Pokeball to the ground, fell to his knees... and surrendered. But as Ghetsis handed him the Dark Stone, he felt the world warping around him, and everything began to fade...

* * *

"So, how's our patient doing then?" Lisa was admittedly quite concerned by the sudden appearance of a concussed youth on their premises, especially at a crucial time like this. Due to her carelessness earlier, surely the enemy would now know of the imminent strike and prepare accordingly, making their job that much tougher.

"Better than he could've been," Kathy said, straightening out her blouse, "he's still disorientated but with some rest he should be in good enough shape."

"Do you think we can trust him? I mean, we don't know where he's come from, he could be working for them for all we know," Lisa cautioned Kathy. Even as leader she found it difficult to overcome the paranoia, any infiltration would be dealt with very seriously, but at the same time they had a stranger with a head injury that needed attention, and if he'd died as a result of their negligence or refusal to treat him merely based on the grounds that anyone could be a spy, they would be failing the people of Unova as a whole. This was what this mission was about, the 99% with the lesser share of the wealth, those who had their entire existences stored on secret databases compiled to track their every move, and the authorities wouldn't bat an eyelid when someone suddenly vanished without trace.

"Plus," Lisa added, "he's a Trainer, that could well put us in more danger. Even if he's not in league with the enemy they'll probably come looking for him."

"But he's just a kid," Kathy protested. "He probably doesn't even know a thing about all this. I'm not sending him back out there when the goons who knocked him out are still around, I don't care who he is, we can't send him back out there alone."

"I see your point," Lisa conceded. "He can stay for now, until we find out more about what happened to him, but I'm not happy about this. At all." Kathy thanked Lisa courteously before returning to her usual work station to update their medical records with the new arrival's data and place an order for more aspirin from their only available outlet, an underground pharmacy that largely dealt illegal substances but, being sympathetic to their plight, started stocking some of the cleaner goods. Once she left, Lisa sighed, shook her head and returned to her own desk. If this was how it was before they'd even started, she didn't dare think about tomorrow.

* * *

Jason awoke with a start, sending the covers flying across the bed. It was at this point he realised he was wearing a hospital gown, and suddenly became self-conscious because he realised that meant someone had to have removed his clothing. It was almost pitch-black in the cupboard, with only a chink of light coming from the doorway, and his head still hurt like hell. Fortunately for him, Kathy had piled up his clothes next to the door and he was able to change into rather less embarrassing gear. Even though he knew that he was supposed to be resting, he couldn't possibly go back to sleep after the nightmare he'd just witnessed. Taking some more of the medicine that had been left in the cupboard and hoping that wasn't enough to overdose, Jason decided he may as well explore his new surroundings.

Moving to the left in order to avoid being crushed behind the door as he opened it and trying not to clatter against the now vacant bed, he found himself in a vast space, presumably once a full-time office, but it seemed as though most of the equipment had been moved and as a result the place was eerily empty save the large desk and interactive whiteboard near the front of the office. Jason assumed this was where the majority of important meetings took place, although they wouldn't be winning any Feng Shui awards in the foreseeable future. A few plastic plants had been placed in seemingly random positions, one either side of the board which made sense but then there was a fake mimosa over in the left corner, hinting at a lack of consistency in the thoughts of these people. If they were going to decorate the place, it should at least have some sort of pattern to it. Jason had no real idea what to do in these unfamiliar surroundings, things were too quiet and there were doors everywhere. While he was taking in this odd environment, the door situated closest to the large desk opened, and a woman with a rather stern look on her face emerged. Her mousy-brown hair was tied back in a ponytail and for some odd reason she was wearing camouflage fatigues, as if she'd been stationed in some Middle Eastern warzone. If she'd been wearing a red beret the look would've been complete.

"Hey, you there!" she called. "Come here a minute, there's some things I need to ask you." Reluctantly Jason approached, entering the small office. It was full of old memorabilia which he assumed originated from her times with the actual army, and the walls were covered with newspaper clippings save the back, which has an elaborately marked map of Unova complete with strings and drawing pins connecting the dots. It was almost as if Jason had stepped onto the set of some Hollywood movie and he was about to be given the mission, should he choose to accept it, to infiltrate some corrupt company's secret base and either steal a valuable item or blow the place up.

"Alright, take a seat," the woman said, indicating to the chair in front of her desk. Jason sat down, reading the name plaque in front of him.

'Sgt. Lisa Armitage.' At least he thought that's what it was, he couldn't really be sure since it all seemed a bit fuzzy. It looked like she really had been in the army at some point after all.

"Here, I think this is yours." She handed Jason back the X-Transceiver that had been stolen, which he took gratefully. "Now then," Lisa continued, "there's a few things I need to ask you. First of all, your name."

"Jason Green," Jason replied without missing a beat. It seemed like everyone was attempting to interrogate him today.

"Ok, Jason, next question-"

"Winston Churchill!" Jason interrupted. "He's the only prime minister I remember so it must be him!"

"...Umm, that wasn't what I was about to ask," Lisa said, frowning.

"Sorry," Jason apologised, "it's just everyone keeps asking me that."

"Next question," Lisa continued as if there had been no interruption, "how did you wind up in a dumpster in Castelia City?"

"I don't know," Jason replied, "I got a message bringing me to the city, next thing I know these three ninjas come out of nowhere and kidnap me. Then they knocked me out and I woke up here. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"

"Well, it's certainly an interesting case," Lisa remarked. "I've been hearing rumours of a gang going round imitating the Shadow Triad to extort valuables from people. Looks like you showed up at the worst possible time."

"They knew me," Jason exclaimed, "they acted like they knew who I was! I don't even know who they are or what I did, but they wanted rid of me!"

"That would have been useful to know before," Lisa groaned. "Anyway, what were they after?"

"I don't know," Jason lamented, "but they were the ones who stole the Dark Stone from Nacrene Museum I'm sure."

"Ok..." Lisa went along with it, although she was giving him a look that had 'is this guy crazy?' written all over it. Perhaps there was a media blackout here or something, maybe this place was so top-secret that even information from the outside world couldn't filter its way through, or of course they could just not have checked the news lately, either way it seemed Lisa didn't believe his story. She'd probably just write it off as a product of his delirium.

"Anyway," she eventually continued, "the more important matter at hand is making sure they don't return to finish what they started. Of course they might well assume you're dead but we can't be too careful. This is kind of a bad time but for now you can stay here."

"I need to get home," Jason realised, "everyone's gonna be worried. I called Rebecca earlier and-"

"Where are you from?" Lisa questioned him.

"Accumula," Jason replied, "bit of a trek I suppose but..."

"Too far to let you travel alone," Lisa cut in. "Plus being a Trainer you'll be putting yourself in even more danger."

"It's only a part-time thing really," Jason admitted, "I'm not very good at battles."

"Well, if you can think straight, we could do with some help," Lisa said, "even if it's not much. Guess you weren't as badly injured as we thought."

"Still throbs a bit," Jason winced, placing a hand where the knuckle-dusters had collided with his cranium. "My vision seems to be clearing up though."

"Good to hear." Lisa was now actually smiling for the first time since the questioning began. "Kathy's a safe pair of hands. Even with our limited resources she gets the job done, that's why I brought her in." Her expression soon faded as the Bluetooth earpiece lit up, someone presumably alerting her to some external event. She nodded, taking in the info, before telling whoever was on the other end she'd be there whenever they were ready. She would also be bringing in the new kid, he didn't seem like he'd do any harm, hell, he didn't even seem to know what was going on in the outside world. After this, it seemed the call had ended as she turned back to Jason, who was still completely oblivious to the scale of this operation.

"Alright Jason," she said, "we're in for a final mission briefing before tomorrow, and they wanna see what you can bring to the table. It's time for you to meet the rest of the gang..."

* * *

**Quick Note: I'll be away for two weeks, going down to Norfolk and while I do have wifi, I'm leaving the laptop behind, so won't be able to write or post more chapters during that time. As always, feedback is appreciated. **


	7. Chapter 6: Branches

**Chapter 6: Branches**

Rebecca still couldn't quite believe it, she'd actually fled from her own mother and left behind the very home she was raised in. Packing the only belongings she cared for into a beaten brown holdall received as a gift from her father (and one of the few reminders she had of him), she ran as far as she could without really knowing where she was going. Passing the Daycare Centre on Route 3 only exacerbated things. These were children who probably had loving (but busy) parents to go home to, while now she was leaving hers behind. To be fair, most people her age couldn't wait to get away from their parents. That was one of the main reasons Accumula University was packed with students from all corners of Unova, only the real nerds or those with a ten-year plan voluntarily went to university to learn, everyone else was just there for the experience. Consequently the Centre had to deal with the drunken idiots from time to time but the staff had become used to this after years of the same old routine.

Knowing that Jason must have passed through this route on his way to Castelia, Rebecca began asking around for any information pertaining to the current predicament. Many had either not seen him or simply chosen to ignore him due to him simply passing them by without a word and assuming him to either be antisocial or deaf, possibly both. Those who did offer assistance only told her what she already knew, that he had passed through the route and entered Nacrene City a couple of hours ago and there had been no sign of him since.

"He might still be hanging around the city," a young boy with his baseball cap flipped to the side informed her, "he was chatting to one of the guys working on the Museum case."

"Roughly when was that?" Rebecca enquired, faintly hoping this boy was a latent Psychic who could track him down just by concentrating. Alas, he was not.

"Dunno," the boy shrugged, "I don't have a watch." Rebecca decided she was wasting her time with this imbecile and walked onwards, soon on the outskirts of Nacrene City, which was in disarray after the combined murder and theft at the Museum. Jason had provided her scant information on it earlier, but from her own research and overhearing the town gossip she was able to ascertain many more details. Many had elected to stay indoors, becoming paranoid that they would be next to be savagely sliced up by these ghastly criminals, but those of a more resolute disposition stayed outdoors. The forensics team were still hard at work, including one who seemed to be fretting over something.

"Arceus save me," he moaned, trying to look like he was still collecting samples, "if that boy lets anything slip it'll be the end of my career!" This caught Rebecca's attention, she knew that Jason was interested in all things mythological and had definitely seemed interested in the case of the missing Dark Stone when discussing it that morning.

"Excuse me, sir," Rebecca said.

"That's _Doctor_ Taggart tae you, lassie!" the good doctor interjected rudely.

"Alright, excuse me doctor, but could you possibly tell me more about that boy? I think you might be referring to a friend of mine."

"Aye lassie, he were a wee scrawny bugger, he was. Wearin' one o' them hoodies and carryin' a big duffel bag. If that little bugger's ratted he'll be the next one gettin' a nice chalk outline around him!" Dr. Taggart picked up a stray piece of chalk that happened to be rolling past and scribbled furiously on the ground until it snapped in half. "If ye find the guy," he said, "tell him tae keep his trap shut or Uncle Jimmy'll lose his job!"

"I will," Rebecca assured him before turning and leaving him behind. Now she knew Jason had definitely passed through Nacrene at some point, and with Owen in pursuit, she could concentrate on finding a place to stay temporarily. The warehouses of Nacrene were famous for their use as temporary accommodation, making them perfect for the time being. They had been built at the turn of the 20th century and rather than demolish them to make way for new houses when more people started moving in, they simply converted the warehouses for a more practical use, creating vast luxurious living spaces that were perfect for the party animals studying at Nacrene Art Academy, a lesser-known offshoot of the museum that Burgh helped maintain by displaying various piece of artwork within.

Approaching the nearest warehouse, it was quite obviously inhabited due to 'Careless Whisper' blaring out at full volume. Even with the windows closed the sound still escaped through the thick walls, so whoever lived there was either extremely deaf or seriously involved in their current activities, something Rebecca chose not to focus on. She proceeded to the next warehouse along, finding the door to be unlocked (even after Team Plasma's attempted liberation people tended not to lock their doors). Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she entered the warehouse and was rather taken aback by what she saw. The living room was a complete mess, like a bowerbird's nest, a random array of items cluttered the floor and the walls were covered in elaborate paintings. The entire far wall was covered with a mural depicting a massive swarm of Bug-type Pokémon of all shapes and sizes. Presently, the television was covered in canvas in lieu of a proper easel, and Burgh himself was so absorbed in his latest artistic endeavour that he had not even noticed the door opening and closing.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Rebecca blurted out, having only just noticed him hard at work. He turned sharply, as if he had been violently awoken from a deep sleep.

"Can I help you?" he asked. For an artist he certainly seemed more polite than most although his eccentricity was clear to all. He looked her up and down, noticing the holdall. "You're a runaway," he observed. "I know the type. We're all free spirits here."

"I never knew," Rebecca said sincerely, admitting she had never visited Nacrene before due to the oppressive regime in the Smith household.

"You're incredibly well-spoken, my dear," Burgh complimented her. "I take it you're from the Dreamyard then?"

"I am," Rebecca replied bluntly.

"Ah, the Dreamyard, such a wondrous place. It inspires such brilliant art, you know. You see that piece over there?" Burgh pointed to the wall behind Rebecca, who whirled around to face it. Upon the wall was a Pollock-esque piece that looked as though several children had ingested and subsequently vomited tins of paint onto a canvas, then rolled around in the resulting mess. "I painted that under the influence of Dream Mist. Never before or since have I been able to express myself so freely!" He threw his arms up with joy, the sheer brilliance of the experience rushing back in that one moment, then realised what was going on and picked up the paintbrush that had been sent flying upwards. Rebecca turned back to him, not wishing to gaze upon Burgh's magnum opus any longer.

"If you're quite finished I'd like assistance with finding a place to stay, thank you," Rebecca said, tapping her foot impatiently while trying not to raise her voice too much. Her mother had taught her that trick. On second thoughts she should have just yelled in Burgh's face, Rebecca was sure her mother would have loved that.

"Oh, but of course!" Burgh replied gleefully. "I have no objection to you staying here! I only ever stay here when curing myself of a case of the dreaded artists' block anyway. That's why so much of my work is on display, it inspires me to strive for perfection. But enough about moi! We should be sorting out your living arrangements!" He was now stood bolt upright, standing impressively tall. The canvas on the television depicted a rather horrific scene of a policeman sprawled out in a pool of blood with rather a high amount of detail. It almost looked real, and it frightened Rebecca, but she had nowhere else to go right now so she would have to endure this madman for just a little while longer. She wondered how someone this disorganised and eccentric could ever become a Gym Leader in the first place. "Come now, my dear, it's through this way!" Burgh led her through to the kitchen-cum-dining room, where the staircase rose above the alcove containing a refrigerator and a cupboard which in a normal household would be full of either food or crockery but in a place like this may well have been full of human heads.

"I can see why people like living in these warehouses," Rebecca remarked. "There's certainly plenty of room."

"Ohoho!" Burgh laughed heartily, a rich sound that bounced off those historic walls. "Just wait until you see upstairs! Your room will be the one on the right just as you step out on the landing. You might have to tidy up a bit but it should be adequate." Already Rebecca dreaded to think what kind of monstrous creations awaited in that room, but she'd achieved what she had set out to do at lunch, escape from her mother and find somewhere to stay for the time being. She would probably have to negotiate further with Burgh when it came to rent and other such details, but for now, there was shelter and that was all that mattered. Well, that and a lack of those garish paintings he had plastered all over every wall. Before leaving him behind to find her room, Rebecca had just one last question.

"You wouldn't happen to have seen a boy my age wearing a Scrafty hoodie and carrying a duffel bag would you?"

"As a matter of fact I did!" Burgh exclaimed. "The poor chap was rather overwhelmed by my presence. He said he had some sort of important meeting to attend to in Castelia City."

"Alright, thank you," Rebecca said before turning back towards the staircase.

Ascending the staircase was like walking through a vertical hall of nightmares, despicable twisted abominations leering at her as she passed. Some people had those tacky pottery ducks flying up the wall, this crackpot happened to have creepily detailed paintings of insectoid beasts everywhere, with frames covered in decorative cobwebs to add to the effect.

Reaching the top of the staircase, surrounded by yet more frighteningly vivid paintings, Rebecca crept gingerly towards the room that Burgh had told her about. The door creaked like a prop from a bad horror movie as it opened, revealing a room that had probably not been used in years. She dropped the holdall in surprise as the room was literally covered in webbing. Quickly, she slammed the door shut and went to the next door along.

The next room was almost completely bare, just a mattress and a wardrobe that Rebecca was too frightened to open in case a family of Galvantula leapt out. At least this was more tolerable, she reasoned, unpacking a few things and attempting to settle in. She unzipped the holdall, removing and laying out the sleeping bag that was tightly packed into it, along with an external hard drive with all her data stored on it and a cheap laptop that she'd bought in preparation for such an event. Plugging the charger into the singular plug socket on the wall just in case, she began re-installing everything that was useful and hogging Burgh's broadband connection, which although not strictly part of the agreement she did not see as being a problem. For now, this would have to do. If she didn't hear back from Owen soon, now that she was in a position to do so, she would set off and look for Jason herself. Before that, though, there were other matters to attend to...

* * *

_Are these guys really a team? _Jason thought as he seated himself next to Kathy at the large conference table. They couldn't have been any less mismatched. For once, it seemed the females were the only competent members of the group, the two men sat across the other side looked completely ill-prepared. The one sat just across from him had done a terrible job of bleaching his hair, as the dark roots still showed, and he was wearing an ill-fitting, weather-beaten red overcoat, and was that cheese residue he could see on the ends of the sleeves? The recluse next to him looked no better; he was your typical scruffy graveyard shift worker with what looked like a bird's nest on his head and glasses that may genuinely have been made from bottles. Lisa was currently hammering on a door at the other end of the office.

"DENNIS!" she yelled, still pounding the door with her fist. "Can you even hear me in there?" After about a minute, the door opened and a man resembling the guitarist from the Cafe Sonata emerged. He had a colossal pair of headphones around his neck, which probably had some real ass-kicking bass to them and were really expensive. Jason had much preferred the cheaper option of earbuds, if they broke they were easily replaceable and he wasn't too fussy about sound quality. The discussion they were having didn't quite reach Jason's ears as they were right across the other side of the office, but it seemed the discussion was becoming rather heated.

"So, how'd you end up in here, newbie?" Jason was distracted by who he presumed was the one in the battered overcoat, the voice sounded too upbeat to belong to Mr. Bird's Nest.

"Umm... Didn't Lisa tell you about that?" Jason asked hesitantly.

"Maybe, but then again she coulda told me the meaning of life. Name's Victor by the way." Victor offered a hand and Jason took it. He sniffed his fingers shortly after and confirmed that they smelled strongly of cheese.

"I'm Jason. And I have no idea what's going on."

"Don't sweat it bro," Victor assured him, "you'll be finding out soon enough. I doubt you'll be in the thick of it anyway bein' the new guy." Victor began drumming his fingers on the desk, idly looking around the room. Jason suspected his attention span was shorter than most. "So where ya from, kid? You don't sound like you're from round here."

"Accumula Town." Jason said, secretly considering the hypocrisy of Victor's statement, after all, his accent didn't exactly scream 'Castelia, born and bred' either.

"Ah, the place where it all began..." Victor stopped, losing himself in a train of thought that Jason assumed was related to the events of five years gone. "Came down here from Opelucid myself. Wasn't my choice, of course, I just happened to get dragged into the whole mess since I ran the channel."

"Channel? Like a TV channel?"

"Nah, man, IRC. Y'know, the ol' Internet Relay Chat. You tellin' me you've never heard of IRC before?" Jason had to confess that he hadn't, he suspected Rebecca would probably know what he was talking about though. "Well, a kid like you probably wouldn't last five minutes in there, but us, we're tight, we've known each other for years. Like a band of brothers kinda thing." A few Henry V quotes would have been appropriate given the circumstances but Victor didn't seem the type to be well-versed in the ways of Shakespeare. He seemed more the type that thought Romeo and Juliet was primarily a love story rather than the tragedy the Bard had envisaged.

Finally, Dennis had come out of hiding and he and Lisa made their way toward the conference table. He sat down in the vacant spot next to the scruffy guy, she stood up at the front, using a remote to switch on the overhead projector (the PC was already up and running by this point). Displayed upon the screen was a currently blank video-link to another PC, and from this Jason could safely assume there were more members of this organisation out there.

"Alright, team," Lisa began, "you all know what this means. Tomorrow, we set out at dawn and make our way to Route 4. We pose as inconspicuous travellers simply wanting to pass through to Nimbasa City. I assume one of you has a forged permission slip?"

"That'll be me," Victor said, raising his hand helpfully.

"Good." Lisa unfurled an intricately-detailed map of Castelia City and its surrounding areas. This map had much higher production qualities than the one Jason had been using, that was for certain. Once the four corners had been held down with blu-tac to stop them curling over and possibly obscuring vital areas, Lisa was able to continue, sweeping a finger along the route they would be taking as she explained their plans. "Now, once we arrive on Route 4, our destination is the Bandit's Hideout, the tavern. Even in the early morning we should be able to recruit a few new members to our cause. They may not be the safest of people but if we pay them enough they should co-operate. While we're on Route 4, try to gather as much information on our target as possible, whether the front gate is heavily guarded, whether they've set up Stealth Rock traps, if there's any secret tunnels that can allow for easier access to their base. Once done with that, we collate this pool of information and take further action accordingly. Is everyone clear?" A harmony of affirmation assured her that they were.

"I don't like the heat," the unkempt man complained.

"You'll be staying here anyway, Rick," Lisa said. "We can't leave this place unprotected after all. I'll leave you a couple of Pokémon so you can at least defend yourself."

"They won't listen," Rick groaned, "nobody ever listens to me."

"Actually, you raised a good point about the heat. Everyone remember your canteens, you'll need to keep hydrated out there especially in the middle of the day! So, again, are we all clear on that?" After confirmation that everyone was indeed up to date with the protocol, Lisa went to the PC and, after configuring a few settings, brought the video feed crackling to life. Dennis was probably distracted by whatever music was blasting through those huge headphones of his, everyone else had probably heard all this before.

"Are you receiving us?" Lisa asked, as the image began forming on screen.

"Affirmative," a cold female voice replied. The room was poorly lit and Jason could barely make out any facial features at all, but he was at least sure that this woman was younger than Lisa by quite some margin. "This is the one?"

"Yes, this is him. Jason, this is your introduction to the Dark Lady. She's the one really pulling the strings around here. Victor brought us together, I take the lead most of the time, but the Dark Lady has all the ideas." _Dark Lady? What kind of a name is that?_ Jason thought. What was to come next would be a huge shock considering the trials and tribulations of the past five years.

"Now, if that is all, the briefing on the first step to stopping Team Plasma begins..."

* * *

Around the same time, Owen was still in Castelia City trying to retrace Jason's steps. He'd been led around in several circles by misguided individuals who'd seen him in several different districts. None of those tip-offs had led to anything. It was easy to get lost in such a huge city and this had happened several times, but Owen was undaunted, eventually he'd end up back where he started with enough patience and a circular path. Sure enough, he was back outside the entrance to Skyarrow Bridge, contemplating his next course of action. He'd already been down each of the main streets and not spotted Jason once, he'd checked the docks too and found nothing. He regretted his harsh decision not to accompany his friend but that morning had been a living hell and being in such a crowded place would have merely exacerbated it, at least now he was over that the city was slightly more tolerable.

Gazing out over the horizon, thinking over everything, he noticed a commotion in the unnamed dock directly outside the entrance to the city. He rushed over, wondering what on earth could be happening, making sure he had Hogan by his side in case he needed to battle his way through. What he saw upon arrival looked like some sort of protest rally, with people shouting all sorts of random abuse at whoever was caught up in the middle of it.

"Alright, punks!" he yelled. "Lemme through! Don't make me have to force my way through!" Everyone was still focusing on the centre of the crowd, and he wondered if he had even been heard above the puerile insults being thrown around.

"Ok, that's it! Hogan, Dynamicpunch!" he commanded, sending his trusty Machoke to swing its powerful fist into the crowd. Luckily nobody was hit due to its low accuracy (Hogan had the misfortune to be born with the Guts ability rather than the superior No Guard) and the crowd dispersed enough to let Owen see a man in a very familiar black uniform, wearing a flat cap and with the bottom half of his face obscured by a mask. The real giveaway was the emblem adorning the uniform, the Chi-Rho symbol. There was no mistaking it, either this was one of the few remaining members of the radical Neo Plasma division or an unfortunate guest at a fancy dress party who'd forgotten to remove his costume afterwards.

"Alright, everyone let me handle this," Owen said, trying to calm the situation down. The Plasma grunt threw his arms up instinctively, he was already bruised from where Owen presumed he'd been kicked and beaten by the savage lynch mob. The reaction was unquestionably understandable, after all, the people of Unova had been put through hell by the forces of both guises of Team Plasma, but to focus all of their anger on someone who may have been unwillingly conscripted to the organisation was beyond wrong.

Owen crouched down to the grunt's level, assuming he was too weak to stand up. Hogan stood back, giving the mob warning looks every so often.

"Look, man, I don't condone this at all, but what the hell do you think you're doing walking around Unova's biggest city in that get-up?" Owen asked.

"I-I don't even know... w-what is this place?" the miscreant stuttered. For some inexplicable reason he had a Geordie accent.

"Come on, nobody's that sheltered, everyone knows Castelia City."

"This isn't the city I know..." It was clear the grunt was in shock, the fight or flight response must have kicked in pretty heavily.

"Finish him!" a random voice from the mob urged Owen. He flipped the bird in their general direction before turning back to the grunt.

"Ignore these guys and tell me what happened, if you can still remember," he encouraged this representative of evil.

"I-I don't know. I-it was like, I was on duty, on patrol, like, when suddenly, WHAM, there was this weird light, and this floating sensation, and then I end up in this city. I thought 'Blimey, that's weird, what the hell was that?' Then I realise everything's different, it's not like it was before. It's like... another world or something." The last sentence reminded Owen of what Rebecca has discovered pertaining to the three items described by Jason, the allegory of Alice in Wonderland referring to Team Galactic.

"Ok, pal, would you happen to know anything about a guy named Jason?" he requested, thinking this could be the lead he was after.

"N-no, mate, never. Unless it's the Stath, of course." Of course, Owen's diminutive friend was not Mr. Statham, and Owen began to wonder why he'd even rescued this fool in the first place.

"Alright, I'll take your word for it since I saved ya from these morons here. One last thing, if this is another world, then where the hell did you come from?"

"Th-this is gonna sound ridiculous I bet," the Geordie stammered, "but where I come from... we won." A collective gasp of horror rose up from the crowd, and were it not for the threat of Hogan they would surely have resumed the lynching for such a suggestion. It was less shocking to Owen considering that he had previously mentioned being on patrol, which must have meant that Neo Plasma were not ostracised where he came from, but the revelation that there were multiple universes still rocked him to the core.

"Ignore 'em," Owen urged the Tyneside grunt. "Let's get you outta here before it kicks off again." He helped the grunt to his feet, propping him up against his shoulder. Hogan the Machoke leered at the crowd for a final time before departing with his master to the Pokémon Centre, where they would learn some astonishing truths...

* * *

"I don't understand!" Jason lamented. The truth was out, he had somehow crossed the dimensions of the Multiverse and ended up here, in the very place Don LaFontaine often described, a world gone to crap, a universe where Team Plasma had won and the righteous Hilbert Blair had been manipulated by that wondrous substance, Dream Mist, harvested from the brains of a thousand Musharna. Through the cunning of the lead sage Ghetsis and the technological knowledge offered up by their chief scientist, Colress Slade, Team Plasma had easily triumphed over the rest of Unova, even going so far as to create a year of permafrost in order to flush out any remaining Trainers. The UN itself had become involved shortly after N departed the regime due to the realisation that his dream would not become a reality, but they were no match for Team Plasma's forces, especially not after the PC system had been emptied. This was the point where Lisa had entered the fray, solemnly swearing an oath to avenge those who had fallen during those dark days. Now, several years and an appeasement treaty later, here she was, with a team that she had thought to be experts gathered, preparing to do her best to make that wish a reality.

"I don't get it either," Lisa said. "I never even knew other universes existed. What do you make of this, ma'am?"

"If this is indeed true, then we are in even more danger than could ever have been imagined. Harbouring an illegal Trainer would be one matter, knowingly hiding evidence of the existence of the Multiverse is quite another." Jason had tried to assure them that he was in no way dangerous but there was no defending his perilous position.

"It has to be connected to those three guys," Jason declared. "Whoever they were they're responsible for me being here."

"Consider this, boy," the Dark Lady said in that unnerving tone that could almost literally have frozen the blood in his veins, "if this trio you describe have the capabilities to travel between dimensions, it's entirely possible they do not even inhabit this world. Our chances of finding these people, much less reasoning with them, are almost nil. You can go on your silly little hunt later. For now, our priority is striking the Relic Castle down, removing a key component of Plasma's plans."

"Understood," Jason affirmed, nodding in an exaggerated way.

"Now, let us proceed with the briefing," the Dark Lady declared. _All this is going to take a lot of getting used to, _Jason thought glumly. _How am I supposed to let Mum and Dad and Owen and Rebecca and everyone else know I'm still alive? What will they do? _

The plans were laid out in the clearest of terms over the course of the next half-hour. The first phase had already been covered extensively, but what came next was entirely new to Jason. This was when it became crucial that everyone co-operated and nothing failed. Once they found a way into the Relic Castle, the team would have to find their way past potentially hundreds of guards until they reached the central control room, at which point they were to insert a USB with a custom-built virus that would replicate itself across the Plasma network and relay all the information contained upon it back to the Dark Lady, who by this point would have made it to Castelia.

Right now, the Dark Lady was renting facilities linked to the Deansgate-Castlefield company, situated deep within the Dreamyard, where extensive research into the Dream Mist had taken place. Once the scientists there had managed to ascertain that Musharna possessed a unique frontal lobe that excreted psychic energy produced from its food that manifested itself in a smoke-like substance, as many Musharna as possible were harvested for this unique property, and much of the facility was built specifically to keep them in captivity.

"All of you have your individual duties to fulfil," the mystery one reminded everyone, "and I would appreciate if you kept an eye on the boy."

"We're nearly the same age!" Jason blurted out. Everyone immediately gave him a look that warned him that this was extremely risky territory. He hastily apologised and resumed feigning listening.

"As I was about to say before being rudely interrupted," the enigmatic leader continued, "we cannot let the boy out of our sights under any circumstances for various reasons, the main one being that he claims to inhabit another universe. Him being a Trainer makes him a liability as well, seeing how little ability he seems to possess."

"I can look after myself, you know," Jason interjected.

"If you're quite done, I think this meeting has covered everything necessary. All I ask is that all of you return safely, as all of you will have a part to play in the second phase. I bid you all farewell, and good luck." The video link fizzled out, and Jason half expected the projector to explode so nobody would ever see the message again.

"Alright," Victor broke the awkward silence afterwards, "who's hungry?" More awkward silence. "Just me? Well, if you insist I'll get a set menu for six all for myself. And I'll love every goddamn minute of it."


	8. Chapter 7: Ballad of Grimsley et al

**Chapter 7: The Ballad of a Bankrupt Ex-Elite Four Member (Amongst Other Things)**

It was nine o'clock on a Saturday, and the regular crowd shuffled in. Over the past few years, Grimsley Tyrell had seen it all in this place. People passing out from overindulgence, people projectile-vomiting all over the counter as a result of too much alcohol in the system combined with an extremely weak liver, the revelations of a million embarrassing truths aided by the playing of a green clarinet (the owner of which then tried to use it as a literal champagne flute, but failed because the champagne flowed out through all the little holes), terrible amateurish bands playing dirges written on a series of napkins while stoned out of their mind on extremely illegal Poisonpowder extract, the jukebox (playlist set to 'random') playing "All By Myself" just as one of the regulars was lamenting how his wife had divorced him, everything had been viewed by the watchful eyes of a once-rich man, who had no place better to go than this dingy dungeon of a tavern on the most dangerous Route in the whole of Unova.

Joining him tonight was a special guest. Tonight's act at the Bandit's hideout was the legendary underground rock group, Dogars (taken from a Japanese name for Koffing to avoid being shut down by Plasma) headed by queen of the urban music scene, Roxie Underhill. Alas, she was not the one currently sat across from Grimsley, it was her father, Wesley (usually known as Pop Roxie in reference to his relation to the singer and for his fondness of retro sweets), who had run the ferry service between Virbank City and the mainland. He and Roxie had fled Virbank when the new Plasma grunts had attacked two years after the initial takeover, letting the city fall into their hands after a valiant but ultimately failed effort to keep them at bay. With that, Wesley's dream of becoming an actor had vanished, as PokeStar Studios collapsed and Team Plasma's stranglehold reached across Unova in its entirety.

"Y'know, I could've been a star," he lamented over a pint of bitter, the head still foaming away, sans logo. That was the mark of a good honest pub, the landlord didn't feel obligated to place subtle advertisements in drinks as part of some shady corporate sponsorship. That and it was difficult to draw a Chi-Rho symbol in a rapidly diminishing head of foam.

"So I've heard," Grimsley remarked. "It was a science fiction movie if I recall."

"Yup, was gonna be a biggie as well," Wesley said. "A few years ago I walked into that studio and I could practically see the money being printed. 'Curse of The Snow-Man', starring ol' Brycen Snow himself. My first major role as the hero. But of course, bloody Plasma had to go and ruin everything didn't they?"

"Regrettably so," Grimsley replied. Both had common ground, one had been forced out of his job by the immediate outlawing of the Unova Pokémon League, the other gradually worn down by lack of tourism and eventually the invasion.

"Of course shooting couldn't go ahead since Brycen got locked up, so the project died and I had to go back to being a ferryman. Then they went and took that as well, the bastards." He downed his pint in one gulp while Grimsley observed the mad crowd surrounding the stage upon which Roxie was performing.

"You're fortunate that your daughter has the talent she has," he told Wesley as a cheer rose up and an encore of Dogars' eponymous hit single began.

"Aye," Wesley said, wiping away the excess unbranded foam that had congregated on his upper lip. "I dunno what I'd do without her. Nearly lost her over that doomed movie, she said I was crazy trying to become an actor as well as a captain. Now that would've been a real disaster."

"Does her fame affect your life any?" Grimsley asked. The outside world mostly passed him by, but when this girl's face was plastered on every wall in the surrounding area it was impossible to escape her.

"Well, course it does," Wesley replied matter-of-factly. "But I'm just a roadie, helping the band shift their gear around and driving when we're at an alcohol-free venue. Sometimes I go up on stage and play the maracas to get the crowd warmed up a bit, y'know, but that's it."

"Like Bez from the Happy Mondays?"

"No, nothing like Bez!" Wesley snapped, causing Grimsley to recoil in shock. "You don't know how many times people have said that."

"I find him rather an endearing figure," Grimsley said, as if that would improve the atmosphere. "On the subject of the Happy Mondays, I have a funny story about them."

"I bet you have," Wesley grumbled, "rich guy like you, you were probably hobnobbing around with the stars every day. I bet you had lunch with the Queen a few times. Bloody monarchs."

"Well, really it's not much of an anecdote," Grimsley admitted, "but Shaun Ryder turned up at my cousin Sophia's wedding. Apparently he was related to the groom."

"Did he provide the evening entertainment?" Wesley asked flippantly. "Woulda been better than what me and Margaret had at ours, god, what a disaster that was, lemme tell you."

"Sadly, no he did not. Some fellow named Otis did, I seem to remember him being rather an expert on voodoo."

"So, d'you meet a lot of famous people then, back in the day?" Wesley enquired.

"Only if you count Trainers," Grimsley replied. "The likes of Cynthia graced our presence on occasion. Other than that, not really. Fame isn't all it's made out to be, you know."

"Tell me about it," Wesley mumbled, "some of the guys she brings home after a gig, urgh, it's like they've never encountered running water before. If we hadn't been forced out of Virbank and there wasn't a bloody dictatorship going on I wouldn't have to put up with those scumbags."

"Well, if you're that concerned I advise you put an end to it yourself," Grimsley said. "Buy a firearm and display it prominently, and whenever a young fellow of ill repute enters the house, or hotel, or wherever it is, make a point of cleaning it in their presence. If it doesn't scare them off completely then it should at least encourage them to treat her gently."

"Well, I'm not one to go interfering in other people's business, not even me own daughter's," Wesley said, "and from what I know she's got those boys wrapped round her little finger. Those buggers better be wrapping their own..."

"I think I get the picture, Mr. Underhill," Grimsley squeamishly exclaimed, not wanting to find out the more intimate details of Roxie's private life.

"As I was saying, she likes to be the one in control, but she can get sensitive," Wesley continued. "And odds are, the amount of guys she brings home, one of those lads is gonna try and pull something, cross the line, drag her down to his level. And I wanna be there when it happens, so I can give the bugger a right good beating."

"Being protective of your own daughter is a good thing, Mr. Underhill, but I think your daughter is more than capable of fending for herself. Feel free to take my advice though. I'll even purchase the firearm for you if you'd like. I'm even sure old Bill could lend you his if needs be."

"Thanks, Grimsley, old chum," Wesley smiled for the first time since the Shaun Ryder anecdote. "You're a real good guy, you know that? Never thought someone rich like you would be so down-to-earth."

"Well, I'm no different to anybody else. Not now," Grimsley sighed, as the memories crept back. Memories of those who had fallen during the battle for Unova, memories of the one who'd betrayed them in return for guaranteed asylum, memories of their leader departing to the skies, becoming but a speck on the horizon, fleeing these shores as he knew that nothing more could be done. Maybe then, things had been hopeless, the newly-emerged threat had been too great to contain, but five years on, with political unrest creeping into the public mindset, anarchy on the streets of Castelia, the Plasma regime becoming increasingly barbaric, maybe now was the perfect time to revolt. Little did he know, the opportunity was approaching for precisely that.

* * *

"...Yeah, if I hadn't been there I don't think I woulda believed it either."

In retrospect, bringing the grunt to the Pokémon Centre was probably the worst move Owen could have made, although the Trainers here had more self-restraint than those outdoors, he could still sense that everyone around was glaring at them. Quickly, the two of them had made their way to the back of the Centre, to the rooms that functioned as makeshift hotel rooms for those unlucky Trainers who couldn't afford to stay in Castelia's luxury apartment blocks. As luck would have it, one such room was vacant, the door left wide open, and it was here that Owen had continued his investigations.

After successfully coercing the Plasma Grunt, who was affectionately known back home as Stan the Stammer due to his slight nervous speech impediment and because, of course, his given name was Stanley, into revealing more about this alternate dimension, Owen had called Rebecca to pass on the information since the whole 'Multiverse' aspect was surprisingly relevant to her leads.

Naturally, Rebecca had been rather sceptical of Owen, after all, the whole idea of people just falling through cracks in space-time sounded preposterous, but she did eventually allow herself to believe him for a while. When not watching out for humungous Bug-types lurking in the shadows, Rebecca had been applying her knowledge of theoretical physics to determine the plausibility of the original Galactic story. Surely the great and mysterious Cyrus could not really have been trapped in a realm in which the laws of science were reversed, but lo and behold, there were several eyewitness accounts on the Internet of him being dragged into a portal of darkness by the manifestation of antimatter, Giratina, revered as a demigod in its native Sinnoh. Then again, if current World Champion Cynthia was a witness nobody questioned it since she was of the highest authority pertaining to Pokémon-related information, only the Professors were said to be more knowledgeable on the subject than she was.

"Ask him whether there were any strange groups forming in his world," Rebecca said. "That might give us some indication as to the source of this anomaly." Owen obliged.

"Well, there was this one group, called Anarchy or something, they like, went around messin' things up. Like, they'd spray-paint buildings and stuff, maybe set off a firecracker in an office or order unwanted pizzas to our bases. Dumb stuff like that. Not really worth pursuing most of 'em, from what I hear they're just doing it for laughs." Owen relayed the message across, and if she hadn't switched the camera function off he would've seen Rebecca's brow furrow, trying to come to some sort of conclusion.

"Fascinating, but it doesn't sound like the sort of movement that could have the capabilities to tear apart the fabric of time and space," Rebecca concluded. "Let us not be distracted. Our priority, first and foremost, is to find Jason. If our informant is to be believed, then there is a distinct possibility that whoever is manipulating the two Universes could have targeted Jason, but for what purpose?"

"Good question," Owen replied, "no offence to him but he's kinda clueless. What the hell could they want with him?"

"This is something that requires more discussion. Bring the informant to Nacrene City, I'm currently staying there and have most of my equipment set up in a spare room in Burgh's abode. It's the one next to the house that permanently plays loud and suggestive music."

"You're staying with Burgh?" Owen asked, shocked that she would even consider staying with someone as unhinged as he was.

"It doesn't matter, just as long as I've got some place else to stay. This is a time I could rather do without my mother's intrusions."

"Alright, gimme ten and I'll be on the road. See ya!" Owen hung up before Rebecca had a chance to return the farewell, as he often did, it was one of those old habits that never quite died. Stuffing his X-Transceiver back into his jeans pocket, Owen turned back to Stan the Stammer, who was absent-mindedly staring up at the ceiling.

"Hey you," Owen said, snapping him out of his trance, "you're coming with me. A friend of mine wants a few words with you. But first we need to get you out of that Plasma outfit. Can't have a repeat of that little incident earlier, can we?"

* * *

"...and that's when I wake up in the bathtub full of ice, and then the guy hands me the phone and he's like 'You got one call, buddy, better make it quick...'"

After the terrifying conference earlier, Jason was now happily eating Chinese food with the rest of the rebellious group, having been reluctantly accepted as the new recruit since he had nowhere else to go. In this world, Ghetsis' methods of seizing control of Unova had led to many nations cutting off their business ties with the region, but the Eastern superpowers of Russia and China were among those still supporting the country, so the Chinese takeaway business had boomed and chances were on any given street there would be several Chinese restaurants all fighting for customers. Narrow Street alone had three, but Henry Wong's New World takeaway was their eatery of choice, since Henry was sympathetic to the cause and often gave them discounts and free side dishes. The other two, the Lake and the Marvellous Bridge, which still served the highly illegal Swanna, had less empathy and would make a point of bringing down the shutters if they spotted Victor approaching, sometimes trapping their customers in for the night.

"So, how did everyone end up here?" Jason enquired. The whole team seemed so mismatched that there had to be an interesting story behind it all.

"I think everyone's story is pretty similar," Victor began. "After all, it was my idea. I had that channel open 24/7, got me some interest from these lovely people." He spread his arms out wide, expressing an exaggerated amount of love for those around him. "Yeah, that's kinda it really. Everyone wanted to stop Team Plasma, I said 'why not make it happen?' and we all ended up here. Except the Dark Lady of course. She kept in the shadows, somethin' about not being able to move out 'cause there was too much stuff to haul over, but everyone else made it out here somehow. Once we got here we just had to convert everythin' for our own use, took a while but man, was it worth it!"

"So if you guys knew what Plasma were up to since the start, how come it's taken five years to get this far?" Jason asked.

"Oh, y'know, little obstacles," Victor said, "like, say, the whole damn region freezing up so nobody could move for a year! S'pose we shoulda moved quicker but believe it or not people actually sincerely thought that Plasma were trying to make the world a better place. Sure didn't pan out that way in the end, the Permafrost took things way too far for people to be comfortable with."

"They only managed to freeze Opelucid before someone stopped them," Jason corrected him, momentarily forgetting where he was.

"Well this ain't your world now is it? No hero's gonna swoop in and save the day. N got curbstomped by Black Kyurem and nobody's seen the kid since then. Rumour is he's touring the world on that dragon of his."

"I'm still not sure about this whole thing..."

"Nobody is, kid, but we gotta try. We've been planning this way too long to back out now. We all got our grudges against Plasma, they screwed up all our lives in some way or other," Victor said, scooping up rice with a prawn cracker and lightly seasoning it with soy sauce before shoving the concoction into his overworked mouth.

"Quite frankly, I'm tired of hearing about this, and I'm the one who's in charge," Lisa growled.

"Glad I'm not the only one," Rick agreed, desperately trying not to drop chow mein down his front (despite all the Chinese outlets everywhere, many were still unskilled in the fine art of using chopsticks). "Damnit," he grumbled as his grip slipped and noodles went everywhere.

"Just use a spoon, man!" Victor urged the slob. "Nobody here's gonna judge you. Well, maybe the newbie, but we're all cool with it."

"I would if _someone_ hadn't broken the dishwasher!"

"Hey, come on now, that was totally not my fault! Nobody told me you weren't supposed to stack 'em that way!"

"Fine, I'll go and rinse one off in a minute..."

"Oi, Victor, remember the time you picked up that cheap Hoennian chick?" Dennis took it upon himself to change the subject, the first words that Jason had heard from him at all. For the majority of the meeting he'd just been sat back with his impractical headphones on listening to The Smiths. Jason knew this because it was so loud that even these ridiculously expensive cans had a worrying amount of sound leakage. That and it had been prominently displayed on the screen of his iGear.

"Oh Arceus, not this one again," Rick complained. "Not while I'm eating..." He stopped to ensure the piece of chicken he'd inelegantly speared would not evade his possibly endless stomach and was unsuccessful in doing so as it slid off the end of the chopstick and onto his front.

"Lighten up, the kid's not heard this one," Victor said while Rick skulked off to wash a spoon. "So, yeah, this one time in Opelucid..."

* * *

Getting to Nacrene City in itself was a simple enough feat for Owen and Stan, but there had of course been the issue of the latter still being affiliated with Plasma, a problem soon solved by a quick trip to Gatito Street. After replacing his outdated and inflammatory attire with the latest top-of-the-line Twelve Monkeys gear, Stan the Stammer's appearance was now almost totally inconspicuous (if anyone asked about the bruising it was Owen's fault) and the two could finally leave Castelia City without incurring the wrath of a thousand Trainers.

Skyarrow Bridge was just as long as they remembered, and the wind was blowing directly in their faces so it took even longer. Upon reaching Pinwheel Forest the two were accosted by the Hiker who camped out in the gate and handed out Quick Claws. Both politely declined his offer and continued through Pinwheel Forest, where a group of Rangers were busy attempting to put out a mysterious raging fire. The old man who claimed to be Virizion's human representative had now cleared the path in light of this incident, feeling that it was safer to allow the common folk to pass the personal space of the forest's guardian than it was to force them to brave the raging inferno.

"S-so is that a normal occurrence here then?" Stan enquired.

"Depends," Owen said, "we got our fair share of pyromaniacs, sure, but most of the time the Rangers have it under control."

"I-I wasn't from around here," Stan remarked, slightly embarrassed. "W-we came over here from England shortly before it all kicked off, I got drafted in. H-had to find a way to earn money 'cause we didn't have visas. S-some of the stuff I had to do doesn't bear thinking about. Got so bad I couldn't sleep, like, so they gave me pills. W-we had good healthcare, of course it wasn't like that for the rest."

"So your family moved here at the worst possible time, illegally? Man, that's some rotten luck."

"I know. We should've just stayed put but me dad was in massive debt and movin' was the only way out. W-we could've chosen anywhere, but we ended up here..."

Owen and Stan had reached the edge of Pinwheel Forest, and Stan watched intently as two small children battled, their starters using the weakest possible attacks, but of course he would hardly have seen any battles in his lifetime having been brought up in a country where Pokémon were outlawed due to the huge amount of health and safety regulations that would have had to be brought in to make battles even remotely safe.

"Get a move on, Stan!" Owen called, bringing him back to reality. "We don't have all day!"

"I-in a minute!" Stan said hurriedly, running to catch up with Owen, who by now was quite some distance away. Stan was far from the most athletic member of Plasma's ranks and it showed, running almost halfway across the city to catch up with Owen certainly took the wind out of his sails. With curiosity he noted the police tape around the entrance to Nacrene City Museum, although by now the crime scene was barren, the majority of the forensic work done for the day.

"So what happened there then?" Stan asked.

"Let's just say that we have our fair share of criminals around here," Owen said cryptically, unsure whether to divulge the full details to the grunt. For a member of a criminal organisation (or oppressive regime depending which universe you were from) he seemed innocuous enough, but he still had to be wary in case he somehow ended up back in this other universe or had informants waiting for him somewhere. Owen reasoned that he could extract information from Stan but not give him more than necessary until it was absolutely clear there was no danger.

It had taken longer than usual but the two finally reached Burgh's warehouse and opened the door, knowing Burgh wouldn't mind more visitors.

"Freaky," Stan muttered, staring at the mural on the far wall of the living room. The lounge was curiously empty; perhaps Burgh had finally gone back to his Gym and left Rebecca to her own devices. Cautiously moving through the room towards the kitchen, Owen and Stan tried not to look at any more art for fear that it may transfer some of Burgh's brilliant madness to them simply through gazing upon it. The kitchen door creaked open to reveal Rebecca busy at the counter, making a peanut butter sandwich.

"You've arrived," she said plainly, focused more on the sandwich than her friend and the Geordie.

"Yeah, that we have," Owen replied, looking around at what could only be described as a failed experiment in interior design. "Sure is an interesting place..."

"I suppose you could call it that," Rebecca said. "I much prefer to think of it as overwhelmingly ugly."

"Is it... safe?" Stan asked cautiously, looking around and seeing a multitude of demonic insects staring back at him with terrible beady eyes.

"Yes, there's nothing here that could cause too much harm," Rebecca assured him. "That is, of course, unless you have a severe phobia of Bug-types." Stan breathed a sigh of relief and the three sat down at the table in the dining-room portion of the kitchen. In between bites of her sandwich Rebecca began asking all sorts of questions pertaining to Stan's origins, culminating in his opinion of the three items that Jason had claimed to have in his possession shortly before all traces of him vanished from this realm of existence.

"I-I reckon whoever it is, they definitely know about other worlds and stuff," Stan hypothesised. "All of those items you can relate to things where someone travels to another universe. The Alice link, that's a good 'un, but there's other stuff it could be linked to."

"Are you suggesting a more contemporary frame of reference?" Rebecca asked.

"S'pose," Stan said offhandedly, "I know they had a pocket watch in Doctor Who, and they go all over the place in that. That book, I heard about this one, the White Chronicle, apparently it has the power to change the future or something."

"Why would someone just mail out an artefact with so much potentially dangerous power?" Rebecca enquired.

"It's not real," Stan clarified. "Forgot what it's from but one o' the lads was raving about it one time, he was always a bit off. Said somethin' else about radiance and history when he was on about the book. And I just remembered he was a fan of some old thing with mirrors in it where you went to another dimension, had art in it from the bloke who did Alien."

"So, could this be our guy?" Owen asked. "Some nut-job from Team Plasma is screwing around with powers beyond imagination?"

"Not likely," Stan said. "I mean, the guy couldn't even tie his shoes properly, I don't think he could pull somethin' like that off."

"Well, this has been awfully productive," Rebecca said, with more than a hint of sarcasm. "At least we can safely assume that whatever is going on it involves another universe in which your Team Plasma was victorious, is that correct?" There was silence for a few moments. "I shall take that as a 'yes'. In that case, all we can do now is see if there are any similar incidents to the one that brought you here and attempt to find some sort of correlation."

"I'm down with that," Owen agreed, straining the fragile chair by leaning back too far.

"Well, it's not like I can do anything else," Stan said. With that, Rebecca ushered the others to her temporary accommodation, the control room for an operation that had no real name, but was intended to get to the bottom of all this cross-universe nonsense once and for all.

* * *

Jason couldn't sleep. He wasn't sure if it was due to the hectic and frenetic nature of the day or some sort of jet-lag from crossing dimensions, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't drift off. His mind and body kept tossing and turning in the dingy cupboard (there hadn't been anywhere else left for him), hoping for release from consciousness, but nothing worked. Counting Mareep only led to completely ridiculous situations involving several Mareep attempting to pole-vault the fence and ending up falling into a volcano. Even trying to do maths in his head did not work, the task of having to add or subtract had become more strenuous than dull. Resigning himself to a night of insomnia, Jason began to think about the ways in which his life had been affected by the very team he was supposed to be facing the next day.

* * *

"That's right! We must liberate the Pokémon! Then, and only then, will humans and Pokémon truly be equals," Ghetsis had informed the crowd congregating around the podium. This was a time when Jason was a younger man, not even a man at all, and he was skipping Trainer's School just to see what all the fuss was about after hearing of this strange man with the one-eyed visor and his accomplices dressed as medieval knights. His lone Patrat still encased in the Pokeball hooked to his belt, Jason had listened intently to the words of the sage, as many others did that day. In the wake of his speech, confusion reigned in the town of Accumula, as the adults became philosophical and the children cried at the prospect of no more Pokémon. It would certainly be tough news to break to the younger generation.

For a few brief moments, Jason had sat down and thought about the whole thing, his young mind trying to process the injustice that thousands, possibly more, unknowingly caused every day, forcing their companion creatures into combat with others of their kind. At that precise moment, his enthusiasm in training was crushed, he'd never been top of the class, hell, it was an achievement to be second-to-last in the class for him, now he realised that it was just never meant to be. Perhaps he was one of those who caused unnecessary suffering to his partner, the Patrat that he'd been given on the first day of Trainer's School. It would be tough news for his parents, who only wanted the best for their son, who hoped that one day he might become world-famous, or at least grow up and have a stable income. He'd have to tell them that he'd dropped out of school because he thought the whole thing was a complete sham, that it was wrong to force children to become Trainers and even worse for the Pokémon involved, trapped against their will and made to follow the commands of juveniles. He'd hand over Patrat and clean his hands of the whole business, wipe away the filth that stained his almost-virtuous soul and start anew. There was still time to consider future options, for the foreseeable future he could just attend Accumula University's foundation courses, which would teach him everything he needed to enter the world of business, but his primary goal was abandoning ship.

The knights were still dismantling the stage upon which Ghetsis had been stood, along with the flags emblazoned with their stylised Chi-Rho symbol. Cautiously, he approached the nearest one, outstretching his hand with the Pokeball held within. The knight didn't seem to notice, so he cleared his throat to catch his attention.

"W-what do you what?" he asked, slightly startled. Jason noticed that he had a strange accent, one with a peculiar rhythm to it, that he couldn't quite place.

"I wanted to give you this," he said, placing the ball in the knight's hand.

"The hell am I supposed to do with this?" the knight enquired, puzzled. He rolled it around between his two hands, inspecting it from every angle, as if he had never seen a Pokeball before.

"I'm liberating it," Jason replied. "Do what you want. Release it, anything. It'd be better off that way." Out of words, Jason walked off, as the knight called one of his fellow teammates over to help him decipher the mystery of the ball. As Jason walked back through the town square he caught little snippets of conversation pertaining to the matter.

"Honestly, what a load of rubbish. Liberating Pokémon? It can't be done!" a geeky teenager said.

"Dude, it's not cool to make others suffer, y'know? Like, seriously not cool!" his companion, a rather rotund young man with a crew cut, argued.

"Do you really think he's the good guy here? He looks kinda shifty if you ask me..." someone else speculated. Finally, Jason caught sight of a slender young man wearing white approaching a trio of novices.

"My name is N."

* * *

Even after Team Plasma fell, Jason had for a short while clung to the naive hope that maybe N would return to Accumula and thank him for at least trying to show the world what was right, but of course it was not to be. Even two years later, when Ghetsis had returned and threatened to freeze the region, N had seemingly forgotten about him, or more likely never knew of him in the first place. As the weeks of waiting had become months and business school had turned out to be a more arduous task than he had ever imagined, Jason turned to ancient mythology, spending most of his time in the university library reading about the great legends of Unova instead of studying. Eventually his viewpoint shifted and his personal hero became the now-famous Hilbert Blair, who would surely become part of the legends himself when future history books were written.

After receiving some rather dreadful end-of-year results for business studies, Jason had declined the offer to continue further with his course and with no other avenues available taken the first job presented to him, a post at the town's Pokémon Centre. He had seen this as atonement for his past misjudgements at first, but eventually as time wore on none of that mattered any more, he had friends now who could see past the misguided naivety of five years gone and after an anonymous customer had left a Psyduck behind one day he could go back to being a Trainer, albeit a relatively unsuccessful one.

Jason sighed, wishing he could return to that life. Everything was so simple at home, he barely ever had to deviate from his routine. Weekdays and the occasional Saturday, he'd rise at 8am and prepare for the long working day, spend about eight or so hours pretending to know what he was doing while mainly just chatting with Rebecca and Owen when they weren't busy, after which he'd return home, read issues of PokéMonthly (a tad mainstream and lowbrow perhaps but it was certainly informative), watch television either in the living room or, if his parents had occupied that room, on his tiny monitor, and occasionally attempt to train the few Pokémon he was willing to use.

It couldn't be coincidence that whenever his routine was broken, things went wrong. Once he'd been made to go to the shops to buy milk and somehow came back with tennis elbow. Another time on a scheduled trip to Nacrene Museum he'd fallen asleep on the bus and ended up in Driftveil, completely lost and without enough change for a ticket back home, so he was forced to buy supplies from the famous market (which he'd never heard anybody outside Unova mention once) so he'd have the exact amount and not infuriate the bus driver. Now, an odd delivery had culminated in him being transported to a parallel universe by three ninjas and becoming embroiled in a grand scheme to end the tyrannical rule of a mad Cyclops, quite the departure from working a regular shift at the Pokémon Centre.

Jason tried to think happy thoughts, peaceful thoughts, memories of those who remained in the realm he had left. He knew he could trust his friends to look for him, and wished that they could succeed, but of course that was impossible. _No_, he thought, _got to think positive or I'll be up all night. Remember the good times, like that first day, or the time when we all went down Route 1 and watched the sun setting from the coast, or the other time when that guy tried to climb in through the window and got decked, OK, maybe not that one, how about the time when... _Shortly afterwards Jason did manage to fall asleep, but it was far from peaceful.

* * *

**Quick Note: Guess I can't even keep to my own schedule now. Unfortunately the workload is beginning to stack up, by the end of September I'll hardly have a chance to write anything at all... **


	9. Chapter 8: The Day of Unrest

**Chapter 8: The Day of Unrest**

"Take this snivelling idiot boy out of my sight! NEXT!" After laying claim to the land of Unova, with the power of both dragons of legend at his disposal and the PC system cleansed of all the filth within, Ghetsis Harmonia proclaimed himself Lord Protector of the region, deeming his adopted son, N, unfit to rule without counsel from his wise father. Hilbert took his place in a hard wooden seat besides the formidable steel throne Ghetsis had commissioned for himself, while N had a resplendent golden chair to his father's right.

The unfortunate Trainer brought before the courts of justice was led away in chains by several grunts, still in their knight's attire, and the next in line, former Gym Leader Burgh Hill, now nothing but a shamed madman, was brought forward to answer to his crimes before the righteous lords of the region. Sages Ryoku, Giallo, Zinzolin and Gorm stood by at the sides to watch over proceedings, while N was chaperoned by his sisters, Anthea and Concordia, looking radiant as ever in the elegant clothes that Ghetsis had given them. Hilbert wished he was treated even half as well as N, but being a turncoat was no easy task. Sometimes he felt as though he was carrying the whole of Unova on his shoulders, or at least all its guilt. In his moment of desperation to save his friends and his lover, he had forsaken everything and relinquished the right of the common people, and he would carry that with him for the rest of his days.

"Ah, Burgh, I remember you well," Ghetsis boomed. "You fought valiantly upon the bridge that fateful day, didn't you? Yes, you did, until you were betrayed..." Burgh had been one of the few Gym Leaders to have been captured in the aftermath of the battle for Unova, the others finding ingenious methods to escape the menacing clutches of Team Plasma. Hilbert had heard all sorts of tales about how a huge steel bird had swooped down and snatched up Skyla Flowers and her good friend (and some suspected lesbian partner) Elesa Storm, how the wily mayor of Driftveil, Clay Sand, had dug his way out of his cells with his own bare hands and was now somewhere in the tunnels of the decommissioned Battle Subway. Others, however, had not been so fortunate. Opelucid's own mayor, Drayden Rivers, had handed himself over when the battle seemed lost, in return for the safety of his granddaughter, Iris, whom Hilbert remembered well. She'd been a pretty one, although not so much as Hilda of course. _Such a shame we couldn't honour Drayden's wish..._

"What you propose to do is wrong, Harmonia! I'll have no part in your wicked schemes!" Burgh protested. It was common to hear in the courts that this man had painted the walls of his cell with his own excrement, in lieu of other materials, such was the extent of his insanity. Hilbert noticed no foul smells, so assumed this tale was hearsay like the others, but the rumours persisted, as did the fool's protests. _I fought both with you and alongside you, but now I'm against you. Don't push your luck, old friend..._

"Oh, be quiet, you idiot!" Ghetsis bellowed, with the tone of a charging Tauros. Still Burgh yammered on, his mind truly rotted it seemed. When the yelling didn't work, Ghetsis responded by hammering the floor with his sceptre, a new addition to his look that came about as half a solution to a weak knee and half to make him look more regal. When asked of his opinion on the staff, Hilbert simply smiled and nodded politely, knowing that anything he said could easily be misconstrued.

"If you don't shut up, I'll have Sir Eldrich decapitate you!" Ghetsis warned, pointing his staff at a very scary-looking man in a too-small Plasma uniform, carrying a heavy battle-axe. Hilbert had heard the stories of how he could split a man's head like a watermelon with that axe, which was, according to some, made from Haxorus tusks.

"Threatening me with uncouth violence won't work, you wretch! You've enslaved Unova, but they'll fight back, Harmonia, mark my words! They'll find a way," Burgh prophesised. For this he received a hefty clout round the side of his head from one of the Plasma guards restraining him.

"Now that's you've _shut the hell up, _proceedings can continue as planned, can they not? Lady Caitlin, if you would please, show the courts evidence of this man's wrongdoings." Caitlin, in return for her safety, had resigned from the Elite Four immediately and denounced the Pokémon League. Ghetsis, in a display of gratitude, appointed her his chief clairvoyant, projecting images of past, present and future for all to see, but Hilbert knew her trick. It was the same trick that had been pulled on him. Somewhere within the courtroom was a Musharna, spreading its Dream Mist across the room, entering the minds of all those exposed to the fumes. Using her psychic powers, Caitlin could communicate with the Musharna telepathically and order it to show certain things, although most of the time its Trainer, a young recruit named Nigel Bartholomew, was the one ordering his Pokémon, and most of these commands were directly from Ghetsis himself. Hilbert suppressed a chuckle as the court stared in awe at the centre of the room, where clear distortions caused the very fabric of space-time to ripple, taking them to Castelia City's Gym.

"Fly, you fools! Flyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Ahahahahahaaaaaaaa!" Burgh laughed as he threw an assortment of Bug-types from the roof of his Gym. Those with wings escaped without harm, but the unfortunate insectoids without the power of flight soon splattered on the pavement below in a huge sticky mess.

"You see, ladies and gentlemen," Ghetsis said, "_this_ is what the Gym Leaders of this glorious region have been doing! This is what we fought long and hard to stop! But wait, there's more..." The world rippled, as though it were a lake that a young boy had dropped a brick into, and the environment changed once more. Now they were outside, on the street upon which those bugs had met a grisly end, and Burgh was battling Sage Bronius and his cronies. Hilbert knew this was going to be an over-the-top retelling of the incident involving several deaths, but he sat back and watched anyway as the exaggerated blood and gore flew from the wounds of Herdier being attacked by a Swadloon. Razor Leaf had the power to decapitate, it seemed.

"As you can see, even when we begged, _pleaded_, with him to stop, Burgh did not relent. All those poor Pokémon died for no reason..." _Wow, he's really hamming this up,_ Hilbert thought, as a single tear rolled down Ghetsis' cheek. "That's enough, Caitlin." _He even sounds all choked up. Talk about a great actor._ The wobbling world returned to normal and reality returned to the courtroom once more.

"My Lord, I believe that is evidence enough to condemn this man," Sage Ryoku said. He was a strange one, with a slight Japanese accent. Hilbert figured he had something up his sleeve, a secret plan that nobody else was in on, but in his position as hostage he had no right to interfere or question the Green Sage.

"Yes, lock him up in one of the refrigerated cells in the Cold Storage," Sage Zinzolin suggested. Hilbert was scared of this one, every word sent a chill down his spine. "The cold will make him feel _alive_..."

"An excellent proposal Zinzolin," Ghetsis agreed. "This is why I have you as one of my right-hand men. Certainly not for your looks, at any rate." He turned back to the condemned Gym Leader and his guards. "Well, you heard the Sage. Take this man to the Cold Storage at once!" the Lord Protector barked.

"Y-yes m'lord," the clouter said, yanking on Burgh's chains. By now Castelia's greatest artist had ceased his babbling and allowed himself to be led from the courtroom, off to his frozen prison.

"Alright, gentlemen, that will do for today," Ghetsis announced once Burgh was gone. "You're all dismissed. Except you, Hilbert, there's something I want from you." Hilbert stopped and turned around mid-step. _What's the betting this will be something I really regret later?_

"What would that be, my lord?" Hilbert asked. He knew not to step out of line, or else Hilda would suffer. It was a choice of her and the world, and he'd gone for her. As far as he'd been concerned, she _was_ his world, or at least that's how he'd rationalised it. Now, he wasn't so sure.

"My little birds tell me that the pitiful force that your world government calls the United Nations had dispatched a specialised attack force to deal with what they refer to as our 'oppressive regime'. You and N are our best hope of wiping them out immediately with minimal risk to civilian life. Unfortunately, my son is somewhat unwilling to participate in such a battle. Perhaps if you, as his friend, can convince him that these despicable humans are coming here to cause harm to his precious Pokémon, he may be more compelled to listen to his father's wise words..."

* * *

Jason awoke with a start, kicking the sheets off him in his fright. He kept having these dreams, he realised, but what could they mean? _Is this what happened here? If so, why am I seeing it so vividly?_ Looking around he noticed there was no clock in the cupboard in which he had to sleep, so there was no choice but to get up and reach for the X-Transceiver that he'd left on one of the lower shelves. It was 6:15am, and dawn would soon be breaking. In the time it took to get dressed, eat breakfast and go over the battle plans one more time, the sun would rise and the city of Castelia would begin to stir. It was at this time their move had to be made, before the day was in full swing, to avoid the bulk of Plasma's forces. _Best make a start, _Jason thought as he pulled the hospital gown he'd worn to bed (there were no spare pyjamas that fit him) over his head and began dressing properly.

For most people, Sunday would be a day of rest, a day to take some time away from all the stresses of modern life, put your feet up and watch sitcoms about Irish priests, laughing at their idiocy before realising you have odd socks on and you've left the oven on again. For Jason and the company he found himself in, however, today was the most important day of their lives, comparable perhaps to a Tuesday, the perfect day for dictators to assassinate any nosy detectives sniffing around their business and threatening to expose their heinous crimes to the world. In order to ensure everyone was fully prepared for what was going to be a huge event, Lisa recapped the mission objective one final time.

"Just one question, ma'am," Victor said. "Can I use my own stuff for once? Whenever I borrow off the server, everything goes wrong. Besides, I don't think this is meant for combat." He carefully placed a large Viking-esque broadsword on the desk, trying not to damage either the sword or the table. The blade and handle were adorned with ancient runes that were supposed to be magical but in truth were merely gobbledegook due to the manufacturer not being well-versed in ancient alphabets.

"Fine, get whatever you need off the database," Lisa replied exasperatedly. Victor had used a modified version of what Jason could only assume was remnants of Rebecca's code to create a custom server, which over the years had become an open storage system for anyone who had managed to evade Team Plasma, providing a plentiful pool of Pokémon for the platoon to 'borrow', although whether or not it would be obedient was pot luck due to Badges no longer existing. Victor logged in, downloaded a pocketful of Pokémon and returned to the conference. "Now, if that's everything, I think we can head off."

"Shouldn't someone stay behind and look after the place?" Victor asked.

"Rick's volunteered for that already," Lisa said. "He'll be the one who lets the Dark Lady know when we're in." The Dark Lady was a title that the team had given their leader due to it being a frequent online pseudonym she had used during the early days (and the fact that most of the places she conducted her video conferences from had poor lighting).

"What about the new kid? He's not got any documents with him," Victor observed.

"I have a bus pass, I think," Jason said weakly, fumbling in his pocket to try and retrieve it.

"Don't worry about it," Lisa reassured the two of them, "I can cover for him no problem. Alright, if you're all done, we're about to take our first step towards a brighter future. Troops, move out!"

* * *

"You know, I still have my doubts about this idea. Will we really gather anything from this?"

After a night of brainstorming and a fruitless trawl through the depths of the internet, Rebecca had been convinced by Stan to do what most people did in this kind of situation, put up posters advertising the fact there was a missing person and requesting those with information to call or send an email.

"I dunno," Stan admitted. "Just a thought was all. S'worked in the past though, hasn't it?"

"Not for someone who may very well have been sent to another dimension," Rebecca retorted.

"Ok, maybe not. Worth a shot though." They continued pasting up posters in silence for a while until the inquisitive grunt piped up again. "So like, how'd you lot end up meetin'? Might as well ask."

"Through work," came Rebecca's short reply, her patience rather worn thin. Owen was to blame for this, she told herself, after all, it was his bright idea to bring along the mysterious visitor. _Because Plasma Grunts appearing out of thin air is such an ordinary occurrence. Why, I should have known..._

"Yeah," Owen continued for her, "I'd been workin' there a couple of years before the other two came along, both of 'em started the same day in fact. They seemed to get along alright and I figured I may as well go over and say hi, y'know, so they'd have someone else in the place they could trust. Seems to have worked."

"That's nice, like, all of you meeting like that," Stan said dreamily. "I got on with a few of the lads I did patrols with and stuff, never really counted 'em as friends though. Most of 'em just spent their time gambling and visiting places of ill repute. When they weren't bringing down the full force of the Lord's Law on the people, that is."

They had just finished putting up the final one of the first batch when one of the few people that had actually seen Jason before he vanished came up to the trio.

"Oh, it's you again," Rebecca said, shoulders almost sagging with disappointment.

"Aye, lass, it is." It was, of course, Dr. Taggart. "No luck catchin' them killers then?"

"What?" Rebecca exclaimed, rather taken aback both by his upfront nature and the rather unusual question, prompting a hearty laugh from the Scottish scientist.

"It's a joke, lass! And by god do I need humour to get through this..."

"Oh," Rebecca breathed, embarrassed by her reaction. "I should have known."

"S-so that's what all the tape's around for then," Stan pointed out.

"Aye, laddie," Taggart said. "There's been a murder!" He rolled the R's for much longer than was strictly necessary to emphasise that murder was, in fact, very serious business.

"You got somethin' useful to tell us or what?" Owen enquired, becoming impatient with the buffoonery unfolding before him.

"Well..." Taggart took a brief moment to pause and think. "It's just the one killer actually. The other two were just there for backup or something, we've not worked that one out yet."

"Anything _relevant_?" Owen asked, tiring of this man's obsession with murderers. Rebecca recalled that Jason had been slightly interested in mental disorders but couldn't really handle much past Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, as proved when the three of them had watched a documentary about the Iccirus Moors Murders and the roaming psychologist had accidentally stumbled across a body of one of the victims that had been perfectly preserved in the marshes for over 50 years.

"Actually, there is," Taggart replied coolly, adjusting his glasses in a weak attempt to pass himself off as a bona-fide detective.

"Well, why didn't you just say that in the first place?" Owen growled.

"Because," Taggart said, reaching into his pocket, "convolution is just another word for perfection."

"But that doesn't even make sense!" Owen blurted out.

"Of course it does. Anyway, what was I saying? Ah, yes. This!" He brandished what appeared to be an old Travelclub card allowing free access to the Battle Subway and beyond. Owen snatched it from him impatiently, not even letting Rebecca see it before stashing it away in his pocket.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Interesting question indeed, son. _That _was what I came to tell you all about, but would you listen? Ach no! If ye be willin' to know the truth, then follow me..."

The three hapless twenty-somethings dutifully followed Taggart round the back of the museum to a corrugated iron shed that had an air of nostalgia to it, especially for Owen, who had fond memories of his early sporting achievements (he'd been the Unova Under-11's weightlifting champion and broken his school's 60-metre sprint record amongst other accolades). Along with the travel card, Dr. Taggart had concealed the key to the shed in his breast pocket, unlocking the door, surprisingly without a word. The shed appeared to be a storage facility of sorts, full of all the old junk that was broken, unidentified or just not interesting enough to be displayed. In the middle of a surprisingly disorganised mess, the unkemptness suggesting that it was the scatterbrained Hawes rather than the more clinical Lenora who was charged with the upkeep of these particular artefacts, was a big brown duffel bag with broken drawstrings.

"S-so what's the story behind this?" Stan asked.

"Ah, yes, this one's a bit of an odd story," Taggart began. "One of the lads from the force found it on his rounds, left on some bench in Castelia City. Brought it back here for Arceus-knows-what reason. Now obviously we're not really supposed to go through other people's possessions but of course we wanted to know who owned it. Well, it was a bit of a shock seeing your friend's face in there, along with a few other things..."

"The mirror, the book and the pocket watch!" Rebecca interrupted, everything coming together in her head. "The last contact any of us had with him concerned those three items. Where are they now? I need to see them!"

"Calm down, lassie," Taggart urged her. "Lenora and Hawes had a bit of a look at them earlier, but they didn't find anything untoward. They sent them off to the lab for a proper analysis."

"And where, may I ask, is this lab?"

"Why, Castelia of course! Where else?" The three groaned collectively at the prospect of going all the way back to the big city again, especially since two of them had only returned from there the night before. "And don't be goin' thinkin' you can just walk in there and ask for them back! Authorised personnel only are allowed! Even I'm not allowed in there, and I'm a bloody forensics expert!" While Taggart began to rant about the massive flaws inherent within the system and how disgraceful it was that someone qualified in the correct field of research was banned from accessing facilities with one specific focus, Rebecca, Owen and Stan crept away back to their temporary accommodation, now their own for an indefinite period as Burgh had more urgent matters to attend to, namely being a Gym Leader which was, after all, his job.

"So now what?" Owen asked. "I don't think we'll turn much up whatever happens. Findin' three random items isn't gonna help us out."

"I reckon maybe those things were meant to be a warning," Stan suggested. "Which means that someone's behind all this."

"But if they were about to send Jason to another dimension, what would be the point in giving him prior warning?" Rebecca blasted Stan's reasoning apart with an irrefutably sensible question.

"M-maybe he's like the Joker," Stan said. "Maybe whoever it is likes to play games with his victims. The day I ended up here my alarm didn't go off."

"Maybe you just forgot to set it," Owen countered.

"Alright, smart-arse, maybe I did, but still, this whole thing's just... weird, like."

"Of course this whole thing is messed up. People don't just teleport between dimensions."

"Well, I did, and your mate probably did too. And if it's not a big coincidence, that means someone had reasons to swap us around. Somebody wanted rid of us. It's up to us to work out how and why."

* * *

"There 'e is again! He's the one what killed the Guv'nor!" Greg and Piano Man had been hard at work sharpening their shivs on the broken desiccated remains of their Technical Machine Manufacturing Device when that familiar face popped up again. "I say we hack 'is balls off and sell 'em on the black market!"

"Don't be so vulgar, Greg!" Piano Man scolded his companion.

"Buggrit!" came the muffled voice of Despicable Old Rupert from inside one of the skips.

"Sorry, Rupe, I forgot you were sleeping," Piano Man said, trying to sound sincere and convincing in the way only a con-man could. "Anyway, I'd say you're bein' a bit 'arsh on t' lad. Give 'im a right good pasting but don't for the love of Arceus go loppin' off body parts!"

"I never!" Greg protested, his Ducklett scattering blue feathers all around, but he got the message and sheathed his crude blade. Piano Man pocketed his own makeshift knife before leading the way, cautiously sneaking up on the party exiting the lifeless husk of what had once been the headquarters of a marketing solutions company and conservatory ceiling manufacturer. "Greg, the wafers. Not those bloody thin ones, the proper pinks. 'E'll love those." Without a word, Greg reached into his crusty jacket and pulled out a pack of the wafers Piano Man had requested, who took them swiftly with his crooked hands. Once they'd been the best pickpocketing hands in the land, but when Lord Fauntleroy had requested he play Moonlight Sonata for an array of dinner guests, a cruel jape was played and his fingers were crushed as the piano slammed shut. _My final bloody concerto._

"Cheers lad," Piano Man said quietly as he began gaining on the pack. Now, they were making their way right up the street, almost to the central plaza. It was now or never. Hiding behind a row of dustbins, Piano Man opened the pack of wafers, pulled one out and tossed it behind him, hoping it wouldn't miss. After a few seconds of hesitation he turned around and dared to look. Confusion reigned as the small one reached back into his hood to try and retrieve the wafer. _Bingo. _Any second now Lurch would come running and tackle the boy to the ground, voraciously attacking him for that sweet reward.

* * *

"What's going on?" Jason cried out. "Why is there a wafer in my hood?"

"Arceus knows," Victor laughed. It was funny, Jason conceded, the most random of snacks appearing from nowhere and landing on him. As he shook free the crumbs from his hood, something awful moved in the darkness. Not a moment later, it was coming towards him at full speed, a mountainous beast of pure muscle. Before he could dive out of the way the monster barrelled into him, sending him sprawling to the ground. His body shuddered from the impact and he was seeing stars again, although his head was safe from damage. Now the beast was upon him, grasping at him ravenously.

"Stop! Don't eat me!" he screamed, while Victor couldn't stop himself from bursting with laughter.

"The- hahahah- give him the- oh man, ahahahahh- the wafer!" Victor instructed through his laughing fit.

"R-really?" Jason asked, his voice cracking with fear. As he looked closer he noticed the thing atop him was not a monster at all, but a man. A very slow-witted and strong man, but a man nonetheless. Jason held out his hand, the wafer balanced in his palm, and a big meaty mitt met his, crushing the wafer in a clumsy attempt to wrest it from his grip. As the crumbs sprayed everywhere, another wafer flew through the air, landing to the left. The beast-man turned away from Jason and devoured the new wafer instead. The surrealist hilarity had not ended yet, as this was followed by literally the whole packet being flung towards the resistance, striking Victor in the face. That stopped his laughter quite quickly.

"Well, well, it seems you've met Lurch," Lisa said.

"That... he has a name?"

"Regrettably so," she replied, Jason noticing her right hand snaking towards the holstered gun she carried. "We've shared these streets with the homeless since we got set up. Usually we have a peaceful truce, but these guys have been on edge since one of 'em died yesterday. The Guv'nor, they called him. He was as close to a leader as a bunch of homeless guys can have."

"That was weird," Victor, who had calmed immensely by now, added. "Rick said there wasn't a damn thing coulda killed him, the guy just dropped stone dead. Fit as a fiddle he was, last time I checked."

"And 'ow'd you lot figure that out, eh?" A creepy-sounding older man's voiced said from behind the bins. Up popped two heads, one with a Ducklett on top of it.

"There's more?" Jason exclaimed. _Why am I so surprised? I just fell through into another universe..._

"Ayup, lad!" the man without a Ducklett perched on his head hallooed. "It wa' _you!_" A horrible gnarly finger was aimed in his general direction, and Jason guessed it would have been pointing had it not been so twisted.

"What was me?" Jason had to enquire. Lurch shuffled on past him towards the whole pack of wafers that had hit Victor in the face. Kathy was tending to said face to ensure no permanent damage was done while Dennis was rocking out to something blasting through those ridiculous headphones.

"The Guv'nor o' course!" the disfigured-handed man answered. "_You _murdered 'im in cold blood! And that's why I'll carve your eyeballs out and serve 'em with a side of coleslaw!" In his other hand, which was also maimed but less so than its opposite number, the vagrant carried a nasty shiv, which could have split him from neck to groin.

"Oh, will you now?" Lisa asked nonchalantly. The gun was pointed directly at his face. "You so much as spill a drop, this'll lodge a piece of red hot lead into your skull! Now drop the shiv, Piano Man!" Piano Man did not comply, but the man with a Ducklett on his head grabbed his wrist.

"Do what the ma'am says, man!" he advised, the Ducklett honking in protest.

"Get your bloody 'and off me, Greg!" Piano Man shouted. The two vanished back behind the bins where Jason presumed they began fighting among one another over the shiv, and Lisa re-holstered her weapon.

"He seems happy enough," she commented, turning back towards Lurch, who had finished the wafers and was trying to salvage a few crumbs from the wrapper. "Who knows, the big lug might come in handy." She raised her voice. "Anyone here got anything that'll keep this guy quiet?"

"Well, I was gonna save 'em for later, but..."

"No buts, Victor, you'll hand your snacks over to me now! If we're to proceed as planned we need some way to keep him distracted." Reluctantly, Victor gave Lisa his secret stash of Jammie Dodgers which she hid away in the massive pockets of her camouflage pants. Jason finally rose, brushing crumbs off his hoodie and out of his hair. "Alright team, you know the drill. We're passing through the gate to Route 4. This is where things really start..."


	10. Chapter 9: The Bandits' Hideout

**Chapter 9: The Bandit's Hideout**

Grimsley drummed his fingers on the bar and sighed. Sundays were always a slow day for him, especially at nine in the morning when the call of wild Braviary echoed across the valleys of Route 4. _So much for a separate world for people and Pokémon, _he thought. Even the Permafrost had not been enough to wipe out or capture everything in Unova, but the trading embargoes with the other members of the Archipelago and the mainland state of Orre ensured that none but Team Plasma could catch anything. A true world of black and white, the way N had envisioned it, would have been impossible, but it was perfectly possible to impose an artificial version of such truths and ideals.

Wesley was still around, but he was currently dismantling the stage upon which his daughter had performed the night before and so could no longer discuss how the system was designed to keep everyone in little boxes while those at the top controlled every facet of their lifestyles (by this point Wesley had been under the influence of a pill with a picture of a chicken on it, but his views still stood), so Grimsley had played a few games of poker with the other early risers, but now they had become bored and lost all their gambling money so back to the bar it was.

On the verge of despair from sheer boredom and not having a house to call his own despite once being one of the richest men in Unova, Grimsley began trying to tell his own fortune using his pack of playing cards. This method would be less accurate than the traditional tarot cards and be subject to a lot of interpretation but it was all he had at hand. He overturned the first card, revealing the King of Hearts, famously depicted being impaled by his own sword and sometimes colloquially known as 'the suicide king.' Grimsley took this to mean Death, but not necessarily in the literal sense, more the death of one lifestyle and the birth of a new one. He sighed, remembering how one of his own had stabbed the rest in the back, ending a great legacy. Granted, if anyone was to turn around and begin to aid Team Plasma to save themselves it was most likely to have been Caitlin, with a family's reputation on the line and her fear of her own monstrously destructive latent psychic powers going out of control. Such a shame she had turned coat and joined the wrong side, as powers would be incredibly valuable to whomever she served. _It was not the king's hand guiding the blade_, Grimsley mused. _It was the Queen's._

He overturned another card, revealing a 9 of Clubs. Frowning, he decided to shuffle the deck and pick again as he couldn't interpret the 9 of Clubs properly, and besides it was not a serious fortune reading. After cutting the deck and reshuffling it, he picked out a 5 of Diamonds. Not being very knowledgeable about tarot cards, he took it literally, as he'd probably lost about half his fortune by now if not more. _Actually, definitely more. That house alone must've been worth about 20 million poke._ His rampant gambling had wrecked the Tyrells and his position among the Elite Four was his saving grace. Without that, he was nothing but prey for the Mandibuzz as the bailiffs came in and stole all his furniture. After this bout of reflection, he had the sudden urge to break his usual vow of not drinking until mid-afternoon in order to take the edge off the memories.

"Get me whatever will do the trick," Grimsley said to the landlord, the only honest worker on Route 4.

"One Pink Gyarados coming right up!" the landlord declared. Someone in the far corner couldn't contain their laughter, as the Pink Gyarados was largely considered a 'gay drink' due to the name and colour, a shocking bright pink. Its appearance was deceptive, though, as it had quite the fiery kick to it and was rather intoxicating to boot, hence the 'Gyarados' portion of its moniker. Many a night had gone horribly wrong when an unassuming teen was caught out by the notorious beverage, a stomach-demolishing mix of amaretto, neat Russian vodka (it had to be Russian to be a Pink Gyarados, otherwise it was call a Fluorescent Magikarp), grapefruit juice from which it derived its eponymous colour and drops of chilli extract, but this would not ward off Grimsley, who accepted the challenge and dutifully drank. Once the horrific pain from it passing through his oesophagus had faded, he shuffled the deck once again and pulled out the Joker.

"I'll sue whoever made these decks," he said. "They advertised it as Jokerless!" With the Pink Gyarados invigorating him, Grimsley no longer felt the need to be surrounded by squalor and bid his fellow alcoholics farewell, heading towards the door, right as it flew open and several new faces burst in.

* * *

The resistance squad erupted through the door, on the lookout for any potential recruits. Ushering the newly-befriended Lurch the biscuit addict away by throwing a double-pack of custard creams in the opposite direction, the more presentable members entered the establishment.

"Whose idea was it to bring the meathead along?" Victor asked angrily. "Those were for an emergency situation!"

"Cool it, Victor," Lisa warned. "We can easily buy more. Besides, we need the manpower. He could probably take the guards on by himself."

"How reassuring," Victor said sarcastically.

"Oh, give it a rest already," Lisa snapped. "We're here for info, not to argue."

"Don't worry ma'am, I'll be on my best behaviour!" Victor said, accompanied by an exaggerated salute. "You know me, I'm the ultimate charmer! The ladies won't be able to stop themselves from spilling all their secrets!"

"Well, doesn't look like there's many ladies to charm here," Lisa observed. "And I think the new guy has a head-start..."

* * *

Defying all expectations, Jason had already made his way halfway across the bar, heading in the general direction of the stage, adorned with black and purple stripes, which he knew was an indication of the presence of a Gym Leader who never was. Roxie Underhill, most commonly only referred to by her first name like such luminaries as Madonna; Rihanna and the greatest of them all, Seal, mainly trained the Poison type, particularly those found in and around the toxic Virbank Complex in the city for which it was named. Her first album, Dogars, a name which arose from a translation error when manufacturing it for the Japanese market, had been Number 1 in Unova's charts for 20 straight weeks, and the succession of follow-ups reached similar success. If anyone in this place would be willing to fight the resistance, it would be Roxie.

So determined was Jason that he didn't even flinch in the presence of Roxie's bodyguards, who were built like Machoke and twice as ugly. The two must have been there all night and most of the morning, standing vigilantly next to the stage to ensure it wasn't trashed by drunkards, but now the time had come to take it down and move to the next venue, as Roxie's bandmates, Nicky the drummer and Billy-Jo the guitarist, and her father were dismantling it.

"Whaddaya want, pipsqueak?" the nearest grunted.

"Make it quick!" the one further away added.

"Um... do you have a moment?" Jason asked quietly, keen not to receive a beating.

"We ain't got time for the likes of you!" the near bodyguard barked. "Now scram!"

"Alright then, if you insist..."

"Hey!" A female voice yelled from behind the two guards. "Lay off, will ya?" The two emitted an uncharacteristically high-pitched squeal and parted immediately, allowing the illustrious young punk rocker through. "Well well, what have we here? You sure are kinda cute, I'll give ya that."

"Um... thanks?" was all Jason could muster.

"Nervous, huh? Well, that's expected. I like that." She licked her lips provocatively, gazing deep into Jason's eyes. _What do I do? What do I say? Is she... oh no! She is!_ Jason's inner monologue went berserk as Roxie approached and placed a hand on his face, still gazing. Her hand was surprisingly warm, although not as warm as his face currently was. The other hand was creeping slowly downwards, getting increasingly closer to the top of his jeans.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea..." Jason said half-heartedly. Part of him was aching, even longing for her to just go ahead and have her way with him, but his conscience, old Jiminy Kricketot, was still very much in charge as he began to resist Roxie's advances. "No offense, you're nice and all, but..."

"Oh, you wanna take it somewhere a little more _private_, huh?" she asked, frowning slightly. Jason had to wonder what kind of a place this was if she had the confidence to try that in public, then again she was a rebellious figure and probably did it for the hell of it.

"Look, don't take this the wrong way, but-"

"Whoa, man, leave some for me!" At that precise moment Victor tripped over a table-leg and came crashing down next to them, causing Roxie to jump back in shock, pulling Jason with her and almost throwing them both off-balance. Pop Roxie, the bodyguards and Roxie's two bandmates looked up for a moment before re-occupying themselves with taking the stage apart.

"Check you out, gettin' fresh with the rockstar! I'm proud o' you, man! If not a little envious."

"This... isn't..."

"Oh, _sure_ it ain't, son..."

"Who's the goofball?" Roxie enquired, giving him a single dismissive look before turning back to Jason.

"Lemme introduce myself! Name's Victor Rossetti, but you can call me whatever you want, baby!" Jason put his head in his hands. He wasn't usually embarrassed on behalf of others, but in this instance Victor had made such an utter fool of himself that there was a chaotic overbalance of embarrassment that was too overwhelming to ignore. Victor stood up, dusted himself down and extended a hand for Roxie, who looked at him as though he'd offered her a slab of diseased meat.

"You looked better as a heap on the floor," she said derisively. Turning back to Jason, who by now had let the wave of embarrassment wash over him and ebb away, she asked, "Why are you hanging out with this loser?"

"Well, that's a bit of a complicated story."

* * *

"So, would you be willing to assist us?" While Victor was busy making a fool of himself and stopping Jason from being sexually harassed by one of Unova's most desired women, Lisa had bought Grimsley another drink to try and convince him to join forces with the team. Dennis had managed to infiltrate the ranks of a group of construction workers in the far corner, while Kathy was busy convincing some philosophy undergraduates to change to a more practical course.

"Indubitably, my dear!" Grimsley replied, surprisingly eloquently for someone who'd just consumed Unova's closest equivalent to the Pan-Galactic Gargleblaster. "Ever since that blackguard Ghetsis took over I've sought my vengeance! I've dealt with the fact I squandered my fortunes unwisely, but being forced to hide in the desert was all his doing! I shan't stand for it any longer!" His dramatic gesturing garnered more attention from onlookers than he had perhaps hoped, so he sat down again and attempted to continue the discussion in a more civil manner.

"So, what exactly would I be doing to help?" he asked.

"Anything you can," Lisa said. "Spread the word that Team Plasma is controlling everyone for their own selfish gains, that's a good start. Once we complete our current mission hopefully we can expose what's going on behind the scenes and stir up a bit of a rebellion against the regime."

"Your aims are admirable. I'd be happy to help you. My only concern is how you plan on fighting a tyrant who has the vast powers of the dragons of legend at his disposal. I only fought a fragment of it all those years ago and there was nothing I could do against it, so what hope have you got?"

"We don't plan on fighting Ghetsis or his dragon directly," Lisa notified Grimsley. "We only need to win over the common people. If we can expose the truth, he's finished. Ghetsis isn't stupid, he knows he's got to keep the people on his side. If he doesn't, everything crumbles to dust!"

"I see you've thought this through," Grimsley remarked. "Very well, you have my word. I'll help you achieve your goals. Why, I'll even accompany you if you want, as a man of great wisdom I could come in useful."

"Sure, just don't draw too much attention to yourself. People will still remember you from the Elite Four."

"Oh, not to worry, miss," Grimsley said slyly. "I've got just the thing!" From his front pocket, along with several decks of cards, he produced a silk scarf and a turban. "You never know when a disguise might come in handy!"

_Yeah, there's a ton of situations where we need someone dressed as a desert nomad,_ Lisa thought.

"I've used it several times in my travels," Grimsley remarked. "It's especially useful around here. It suits the climate well. Plus it stops me getting mugged every five minutes."

"That's very nice," Lisa said. "Now help me round up the others, we need to get back on the road as quickly as we can!"

Grimsley went off to the far corner to part Dennis from the construction workers that Grimsley often played poker with, Lisa immediately made a beeline for the now deconstructed stage so that Victor wouldn't make even more of a fool of himself.

"...And that's about it, really." To her surprise, Lisa found Roxie listening intently to Jason's retelling of how he'd ended up embroiled in the grand plan while Victor was absent-mindedly twirling his gun around on the table (team policy dictated that everyone had to carry a firearm in case they needed it, although Jason was exempt from this since he had no prior weapons training). Lisa couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

"Well, isn't this a nice role reversal?" she cackled.

"Not really," Victor mumbled while Roxie locked Jason into another passionate embrace, only partially against his will. Lisa cleared her throat to catch their attention, and Roxie's arms reluctantly fell to her sides as she turned to face the killjoy.

"You've sure settled in quickly," Lisa said to Jason.

"I suppose you could say that, yes."

"Did you at least tell her who we are and why we're here?" Lisa asked, returning to focusing on the mission.

"I was getting to that," Jason said.

"Well whatever it is you're up to, count me in," Roxie said. "Your boy here's done a hell of a job convincing me..."

"Yeah, sorry kid, but nobody's gettin' any while I'm around!" Victor declared, trying to salvage his reputation.

"Quiet you!" Roxie yelled. "Nobody said it was your turn! And anyway, how are you planning to pick up chicks with that get-up? Ugh, talk about killin' the mood..."

"You want us to _escort him out_, Miss Roxie?" one of the bodyguards suggested.

"Nah, leave him," she said. "I can handle it. I'll just pretend he ain't there."

Lisa eventually managed to turn the topic back to the resistance, a rather needless endeavour considering this was a Gym Leader-in waiting she was trying to convince.

"Yeah, I'll spread the word for ya," Roxie replied. "I'm playin' Nimbasa next, should be a fairly big crowd there. Just gotta be careful cos there'll probably be some o' Plasma's men there."

"Of course there will," Lisa realised. "They've got control of the police after all. Just do what you can. We really appreciate it, Roxie."

"No problem. But first, I got somethin' for the cutie here..."

"I'm afraid it's against my moral code to use another human being as a bargaining chip."

"I don't think he's gonna object," Victor said.

"Shut it already, ya creep!" Roxie yelled. Victor backed down, but it was too late. He felt the firm grip of a very strong man on his shoulder and before he could react he felt himself being hoisted from his seat and dragged across the tavern. "Anyway, here, take one o' these." She reached into her dress and pulled out a business card, which considering her size must have been difficult to conceal well. Jason fished out his X-Transceiver from his pocket and Lisa observed he was even shakier than usual, probably because he was about to register the number of a woman who not only seemed to find him attractive, but was prepared to take on the oppressive regime that had brought Unova to a standstill.

"I'll call you once we're finished here," he promised. "And maybe then, you could join us?"

"I'd love to, but we've gotta haul this crap up to Nimbasa and get everything set up in just a few short hours. Ain't gonna leave me much time to have fun, sadly. But I'll see if I can fit you in sometime." Roxie winked, then sashayed back to the stage to make sure none of her valuable equipment was damaged due to the gross negligence of her accomplices.

"Well, guess we better get the rest of the gang back together," Lisa said, and reluctantly Jason followed her towards the far corner where Kathy was locked in a deep discussion with a few scholarly types who seemed to be unaware they were in the roughest pub in Unova.

"I can't say I've ever agreed with Nietzsche to be honest," Kathy was saying. "Then again being a nihilist doesn't exactly fit with the medical profession, does it?"

"Can't say I've thought about that," said a blonde youth with massive shoulders.

"But if there are no morals, why should we be obliged to save lives? In fact, why is there any society in the first place? Are these Doritos in the bag, or have I just spilt the Doritos all over the place because there never was a bag to start with?"

"Hey, those were mine!" a voluptuous girl accompanying the blonde boy protested.

"You can still eat them," Kathy said. The girl promptly did so, offering Lisa a window in which to prise Kathy away from the intellectual debate.

"Hey, before we go, would you be interested in the liberation of Unova?" Lisa asked.

"Sorry," the blonde boy replied, pulling a large sword out from under the table and slamming it down on the tabletop, causing the few uneaten Doritos to jump into the air, "not interested."

"Alright." Lisa turned to Jason and Kathy. "Let's leave before things somehow get even worse."

"What about Dennis?" Kathy enquired. Lisa glanced over at the far corner and saw he'd been surrounded by a small crowd including an old man with a Poochyena (Arceus knows how he'd managed to keep hold of it) and a man with a hook nose and a chin that pointed upward, making his face look like a crescent moon.

"Yeah, I suppose we'd better see what's going on," Lisa said. With due diligence, they did indeed venture forth and discover that Dennis was playing a rendition of Classical Gas on an old banjo. Then the Poochyena started howling and everyone applauded, although it was uncertain whether they were applauding Dennis or the Pokémon.

"You did tell them why we're here, right?" Lisa asked, concerned that Dennis may have been too carried away with his music to spread the word to the denizens of the Bandit's Hideout.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," Dennis said. "I'm at least ten times more competent than ol' Vic! Did he even accomplish anything besides getting himself thrown out?"

"What's that, sonny?" the old man enquired. _Someone forgot to put their hearing aids in, _Lisa was tempted to say but stopped herself from vocalising. "This isn't Albert Square!"

"Nor is it... Coronation Street!" Moon-Face said.

"It's not a farm either!" the old man added, although anyone with two eyes would have observed that there was no way these arid conditions could have sustained an agricultural structure.

"That's it, we're going!" Lisa announced, dragging Dennis from his chair. He just about managed to grasp the toolbox he'd left under the table, which made a horrific scraping sound as it was dragged along with him. Once everyone was a sufficient distance from the crowd he was allowed to stand on his own, and realised in his haste he'd stolen the old man's banjo. Sure enough, the Poochyena brought its master over to reclaim it.

"That thing's got quite a nose on it," Dennis remarked, impressed that it had been trained to follow the scent of a sentimental instrument, as Poochyena were often impossible to train for anything outside of battle.

"Could be useful for sniffing out Stealth Rocks," Lisa said. "Keep hold of that banjo."

"I'm eighty-two, you know!" the old man boasted for no reason.

"Yeah, and we're taking your Poochyena!" Dennis said callously. When not distracting himself with his music, he had a habit of focusing on the objective at hand, and would stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

"Not the bloody rozzers again!" the old man wailed, raising his walking stick.

"Dennis, you idiot!" Lisa yelled. "Look, sir, we're not the police. We're on your side. You're obviously against the Plasma regime if you've kept your loyal pet, so here's the deal. Plasma have a base in the old castle off to the west. We're going in to flush them out, but we suspect they've got traps set up, so we need your Poochyena to help sniff them out. Is that alright, sir?"

"Where's my pension? Did you take it? Give me back my pension!"

"No sir, we didn't take your pension. The government did because they're corrupt and evil. If you help us, then we'll try and get your pension back."

"Bloody Tories, stealin' all our pensions and givin' jobs to the Muslims! Alright, you've got yourself a deal. Who are you again?"

"A rebellious group fighting for freedom. Now come on, we've got work to do. You too, Grimsley!" Lisa shouted, awakening the shamed baron from a drink-induced slumber.

"I think I'm quite alright here madam," he slurred. While Lisa had been rounding up the others, instead of prying Dennis away from the builders Grimsley had paid for another round and become even more intoxicated than before.

"No you aren't," Lisa said pointedly, forcing Grimsley to stand and walking him out of the bar.

And so, with a drunken ex-aristocrat, an old man and his dog and a biscuit-addicted meathead in tow, the resistance squad were finally ready to storm the desert fortress and take the first step to freeing Unova from the rule of Ghetsis.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Yup, uni is back in full swing, hence the massive delay in getting this up. Quick clarification regarding X and Y content, for the purpose of this fic I'm going to ignore 6th gen content because I started drafting it a long time before those games had even been announced, as such there'll be no Fairy types or anything like that featured. As much as I'd like to introduce some things from Kalos, and that in-universe it would be quite likely that the Fairy type was well-known by this point (in the 'real' world at least), I made this decision quite a while back and in all likelihood won't go back on it as it would probably require me to go back and change things.**


End file.
